


Some Futile Hope

by LuxaLucifer



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Lindon, M/M, Second Age, The Founding of Rivendell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the Second Age of Middle-earth. Sauron is regrouping, the Rings are being forged, the Númenorians are beginning their descent into madness, and Glorfindel has been sent back to Middle-earth for...for what? Only time will tell, and when it does, all of Middle-earth will rise up to fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a long fanfiction I am starting that takes place in the second age. It is a shameless Elrond/Gil-galad fic, but that is in no way the main focus of the story- I intend to take you through the founding of Rivendell. I recommend that you have read the appendixes, The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales, know the events of the Second Age well, or some combination thereof. It will only enhance your potenial enjoyment of the fic. IF you, you know, want to enjoy it. To each their own. :)

Celebrimbor is crying. He has been so terrified and defiant and strong for so long that now he just feels exhausted, so exhausted that tears are tracking through the grime on his face, curving around his nose and dripping off his chin, and he hasn't even realized it until now.

His first reaction is not shame or anger, but annoyance. He has been tortured, beaten, humiliated, and he is only crying. He wishes he has the strength to pound against walls and carve out curses in blood. He would do it if he did not feel so numb.

He reaches to rub the tears from his face only to remember the manacles around his wrists. He leans against the wall and shuts his eyes, wishing himself away. When it does not work, he opens them again and wishes he could stop crying instead, but the tears keep coming. He looks down at his mangled hands. If he lives through this, the raw mutilated flesh that had once been his fingers will never craft anything again. He isn't sure if he wants them to.

He slumps against the stone wall of the dungeon, his dungeon, the dungeon of his city. No, he reminds himself. Ost-in-Edhil has fallen. The Gwaith-i-Mírdan are no more. He wishes he had never forged a single ring, wishes he could go back and see through Sauron's disguise, wishes he had believed Gil-galad, wishes he could stab Annatar the Deceiver in the throat. He even wishes briefly that he was like Finrod of legend, capable of breaking his chains and fighting a wolf.

But Finrod died. Finrod died, and Celebrimbor is going to die too. When he realizes that, really realizes it, because until now he has sustained some futile hope that he will be rescued or will regain strength in his broken, tortured limbs, he is at peace. When he realizes it, he stops crying.

That is when the orc shoots the first arrow straight into his chest.


	2. Part One: Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel arrives in Middle-earth and meets, not only his new king, but his lover, Elrond, as well.

Second Age, June 24th, 1685. 12:15 P.M. 

It was without trepidation that Glorfindel approached Elrond Halfelven's rooms, whistling an old tune as he tried to find the pockets in the formal robes that had been laid out when he had woken up. He hated them, always had, and it did not seem as though the style had changed in two thousand years. 

Ereinion Gil-galad, the new High King of the Noldor (not so new, really, hadn't been new for a long time, just new to Glorfindel), had directed him to Elrond, saying he had to go through him in order to join Gil-galad's small standing army. Glorfindel had agreed and had promptly gone to bed, deciding to face whatever was in store for him in the morning. Once awake again, he snuck around the kitchens and listened to some of the gossip, which he found enlightening, storing it in his head for later. Then he had finally gone off to visit the son of the famous mariner. 

He knocked on the polished wooden door, which was unusually thick for an Elvish design. Elrond's chambers were on the edge of the royal court, surrounded by lush gardens teeming with animal and plant life. Glorfindel almost found himself lost among the wild grasses on his way, barely managing to stay on the stone path long enough to find the Elf's living quarters. 

There was no answer, so Glorfindel waited a moment before knocking again. A tense moment passed before he heard a voice call faintly, "Come in!"

Glorfindel eased the heavy door open and stepped into the entrance hall. It was decorated with light gray drapes hung over the walls, partially obscuring many of the old portraits hung on the walls. He recognized a few- the old King of Gondolin, Turgon, looking resplendent and regal, had a place on the wall, although a drape almost completely covered him. Next to him was a portrait of the King of Doriath, matching Turgon's strength with an air of unbeatable vigor combined with undeniable wisdom. With a jolt, Glorfindel recognized a portrait two of the sons of Fëanor- Maedhros and Maglor- on the walls, Maedhro's red hair outshining his hard eyes, Maglor with his hand on his brother's shoulder as to protect him or to stay him from rising. Glorfindel couldn't be sure which.

Glorfindel found as he travelled along the hall that he liked this soft style of colors, the natural blend of cool drapes and the pale wood of the walls. It differed from the normal Lindon style, which was brasher, louder, as though it was trying to get your attention. 

He emerged from the corridor into a large room, mostly empty, with a large pale-colored desk on one end and a few hard-backed chairs on the other. The only other object of furniture was a large cabinet, made of a pale wood that matched the desk.

Glorfindel sat in one of the chairs, resting his forearm on the sides, letting his fingers trail along the engravings of ancient Tengwar carved there. The chair proved to be highly uncomfortable, so when the Elf behind the desk didn't seem like he would say anything, he stood back up.

Elrond Halfelven was nothing like he expected. The portraits in the hall had been of hard-jawed, proud Elves with steely gazes and thick muscles, men and women alike. This was not to say they weren't beautiful- they were all extremely handsome, but like a diamond, hard and impenetrable. Elrond Halfelven was nothing like this. 

The Elf in front of him had ink-black hair tied back in several intricate braids, so black in looked as though it had been dyed. It contrasted with his pale skin, which said more than anything about the hours he spent engrossed in books. He was extraordinarily tall, yes, but that seemed to be the only trait of his ancestors that bled through, for his large gray eyes that were so dutifully fixed on his paperwork were framed by impossibly thick, long eyelashes. In the Blessed Realm, Elves would have lauded his handsomeness, proclaiming that he fit the Valinorian standard of beauty- high cheekbones, a strong brow, and full lips that seemed made to be coyly bitten. His body was no warrior's body, slender and willowy, and his long fingers were perfectly formed to be a scholar. He watched those fingers dip a quill into a pot of ink and poise it against the new line, keeping his hand well above the page as he scratched out a thin, wavering line. The position was so awkward that it took Glorfindel a moment to figure it out; Elrond was left-handed.

Glorfindel noticed a portrait behind the desk, a portrait of an Elf- or was it a Man?- who was almost identical to the Elf sitting at the desk. Perhaps his eyes were smaller, or the portrait had another laugh line here or there, or maybe a slightly larger frame, but those were the only differences that he could see. However, this was a perceptible difference in the Elf in front of him and the person in the portrait, and Glorfindel knew that it wasn't of Elrond. 

Glorfindel could understand now why Elrond caused so much gossip in the kitchens. He opened his mouth to greet him when Elrond, without looking up, beat him to it.

"Yes, I know I'm something to look at," said the Elf, his voice deep and dry. "I'm quite aware. However, as I'm sure we both have better things to do than have me endure your stares, do you think we could move on?"

Those gray eyes glanced up at him, and Glorfindel felt disarmed. If only that soft face weren't so feminine, he could deal with this. Masculinity never appealed to him.

Elrond's left eyebrow raised, and Glorfindel cleared his throat to speak. This Half-elf was stronger-willed than he expected. 

"King Gil-galad sent me to you. I am looking for a position in Lindon's army."

Elrond placed his quill on the desk, careful not to smudge his hand against the ink. He raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel's for a long moment before he flashed a quick, humorless smile and said, "Glorfindel of the House of the Yellow Flower? Forgive my manners, I have been quite busy of late. It is an honor to meet the Elf who slew a Balrog and saved my father in the process." 

Elrond's voice was carefully measured as he spoke, and when he was done he rose and bowed to Glorfindel, a bow deeper than a descendent of Kings would normally give to anyone other than a liege-lord. However, such bows were warranted when in the presence of one who has saved one of your kin's lives in the past, but you are just now meeting. Whoever had taught Elrond the Noldorian customs had done a good job, and Glorfindel wondered who would bother these days. Gil-galad certainly didn't seem the type. 

Glorfindel shook his head, and Elrond abruptly rose, his braids swinging back into place. On closer inspection, they were slightly frizzy and tangled, as though he had slept in them for several nights. 

"I would rather leave my old life behind, if I can. Doubtless people will recognize me, and I will not disguise my name, but I would rather not go by that title."

"I understand completely," said Elrond gravely.

Elrond sat back in his seat, which was identical to the seats across the room. Glorfindel wondered if his serious demeanor would improve given a better chair.

"You wish to join the standing army? Well, as you have more than enough battle experience, being a guard of Gondolin and slaying a Balrog and all," said Elrond, only the barest hint of a smirk evident on his face. "I think, after a training session or two for the other officers to gauge your worth, we can set you up with a well-earned position as one of the captains. Does that meet your request?"

"It's more than enough," said Glorfindel. He hadn't expected to be welcomed so warmly into their military, even considering his past.

Elrond caught his tone and said, "Our nation is primarily made up of Elves under the age of five hundred whose parents have recently sailed to Valinor. They were born here and are determined to stay here, but they lack elders to teach them everything they need. Elves like you are sorely needed, Lord Glorfindel, and I promise you will not find yourself under-worked."

"I still find myself determined to fill the position," said Glorfindel, who had always relished a challenge. "Young Elves are a pleasure to work with. They have not yet acquired the stuffiness that seems to come with our race."

"I am inclined to agree, Lord Glorfindel, although I am afraid that I personally would count as one of those stuffy Elves," said Elrond, still maintaining a serious expression. He deftly unlocked a small drawer on the right of his desk and pulled out a slip of parchment, on which he wrote his instructions to the military officers regarding Gil-galad, signing it with an illustrious, highly illegible signature. 

Glorfindel accepted the slip of paper and read it quickly. He furrowed his brow when he got to Elrond's title, and looked up at Elrond in surprise. Elrond was watching him with a look of wry resignation.

"You're the head of all military operations out of the capital city?" asked Glorfindel in disbelief. He recovered himself hastily, realizing that he may just has offended Elrond. "Not that I don't think you're capable, but there hasn't been a major war in Lindon in a long...in...ever. There's no way you could have the experience- I mean, you may be short on older Elves, but there has to be at least one Elf in this country who could do this job."

Elrond folded his long pale hands in front of him. "Yes, I agree whole-heartedly. I have never experienced the battle-field. I was too young to fight during the breaking of Thangorodrim, although I witnessed it. As for wars before that...my experience with war has been on a far more personal level."

Glorfindel shifted his weight onto his other foot and thought about it. "Then why were you appointed to this position?"

"Can I be frank with you, Lord Glorfindel?"

"Yes. In fact, I would prefer if you dropped the Lord."

"Fine, then, Glorfindel. I will assume that you have heard the rumors about myself and the High King," said Elrond, being far more blatant about it that Glorfindel had expected. "I will not deny it. The nature of my relationship with Ereinion is such that he likes to prove to me how capable he thinks I am, so he forced this position upon me, despite the protests of nearly the entire Council, not to mention my own. I suppose I have proven to be an acceptable war minister in times of peace, but I fear to be in this seat during a time of war."

"I hope it won't come to that, Lord Elrond."

"I am afraid it may be too late for that. I am grateful to have an Elf like you with us, to help us fight the tide of evil that may soon approach."

Elrond pulled his paperwork in front of him again, and Glorfindel assumed that meant he was dismissed. He was halfway to the hallway when Elrond said, "Oh, and Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked back to see two bemused gray eyes briefly leave their paperwork to flit towards him. 

"I believe Ereinion would like you to dine with us tonight, if you would so care. We usually dine around nine. If you wish to come, then meet us in this room around then." 

Elrond's face may not have been smiling, but his voice was. Glorfindel left the room feeling dazed. 

* * *  
Second Age, June 24th, 1685. 8:58 P.M. 

It was with some trepidation that Glorfindel approached Elrond's chambers at nine o'clock that evening. He had barely knocked when the door opened and he was swept into the hallway by the High King himself. 

Ereinion Gil-galad matched Elrond's height to the inch, but other than their height they had little in common. Gil-galad's eyes were green, bright green, and no matter how loud and boisterous he was acting (which was usually very), his eyes were always serious. He was a broad-shouldered and muscular Elf, with thick calluses on his hands from holding a spear all his life. He had a dark tan and his black hair was bleached brown from his excessive time outdoors. Instead of robes he was wearing a worn tunic tied with an empty sword belt. From the little time Glorfindel had spent in the presence of the High King, he seemed to be one of the least uptight Elves he had ever met.

Needless to say, this was refreshing. 

"Lord Glorfindel," greeted the King, the title rolling off his tongue. "I'm pleased that you came. It's been some time since we had a decent fighter arrive in Lindon, and I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

At Glorfindel's puzzled look, the King amended his statement to add, "In training, of course. We haven't had a real war since Thangorodrim."

"In that case, I'll be pleased to show you what I know. Also, please call me Glorfindel. I've never liked titles."

"Me neither," agreed the King. "So call me Gil-galad. Not in the presence of anyone important, though. The Council might just faint from shock. Ah, Elrond, there you are!"

Elrond had emerged from a door in-between a portrait of Queen Melian and a faded old sketch of the twins sons of Dior. He had evidently just taken out his braids, as his hair was exceptionally wavy and apparently unmanageable, as the Half-elf was attempting- and failing- to comb it.

"This is ridiculous," said Elrond, his voice calm but his narrowed eyes speaking volumes about his irritation. "I am an adult. I should not have to fight with my hair every time I take it out of its braids."

Gil-galad reached over and mussed Elrond's hair with a large hand and said, "I love your hair no matter how messy."

Elrond replied sharply, "Ereinion, we have company," but Glorfindel noticed that he stopped trying to fix it, slipping the comb into his dark red robes. 

"No, no," said Glorfindel hastily. "I don't mind."

"Out into the gardens we go then," announced Gil-galad. He turned on his heel and opened the front door, ushering Elrond and Glorfindel out. 

"So it's to be a picnic?" asked Glorfindel, pleased by this. He always ate outdoors when he could. It was something about the trees that he especially liked. If the mood took him, he could close his eyes and sing to the trees forever. 

"Yes," said Elrond, turning his face towards the sky. The light had almost completely faded, turning the gardens into a world of shadows lapping at his feet. There were a few flickering candles in the distance, and it was enough light for all of them.

Elrond directed them to a table located under a weeping willow, his hand resting on Gil-galad's arm as they walked. Glorfindel felt rather like a third wheel, and began to wish he had something interesting to talk about. With Gil-galad he could talk about war tactics and fighting styles, but he had no idea as to Elrond's hobbies or interests. 

When they sat, Elrond uncovered several dishes that sat on the table. Gil-galad reached for a place of pheasant, ripping at the meat and chewing it gleefully, without regard for the grease dripping down his sleeves.

"Ereinion," said Elrond. "You really are disgusting."

Glorfindel tried very hard not to laugh, but failed as a loud snort escaped from him. Neither Elrond nor Gil-galad called him on it, so he reached for a buttered roll and pretended it had never happened. 

Elrond pulled a plate of venison towards himself, thankfully lacking even a marginal resemblance to Gil-galad's rather revolting display. 

"Glorfindel," said Gil-galad through a mouthful of meat. It sounded more like "Grrrferndill" than an actual word. "Drrrrd you stahhhp at Vahhhlllinrrr bffrrr..."

Gil-galad continued in this strain, and Elrond smiled thinly as Glorfindel sat there, halfway between bemused and worried. 

"He is trying to ask you," translated Elrond. "Whether or not you had the chance to visit Valinor before you came back to Middle-earth, and what was it like."

Finally, something for him to talk about! "Yes, I stopped in Valinor," said Glorfindel thoughtfully. "As for what it's like, well, it's blissful. Exactly what you expect. Times have changed, though, since I lived there in my youth. Things are...how do I explain...staler...duller, if you forgive me for saying so."

Gil-galad swallowed the last of his meat and said, "Glad to hear it! Those of us still in Middle-earth are glad to hear a reason for us to stay here. Many of us here are willing to fight and die for this land, myself among them. You?"

Glorfindel grinned. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear that after the political nothings of Valinor. I feel guilty for thinking it, but sometimes I think a big battle might wake them all up."

"How big of a battle?" asked Elrond, seemingly intent on his venison. "A battle the size of the fall of Nargothrond or more like the size of the second battle of the Petty-dwarves in the deep halls under Sharbhund?"

Glorfindel opened and closed his mouth, but had no reply. He'd never even heard of Sharbhund. Gil-galad laughed. 

"Elrond spends all his free time reading books. For his first few hundred years in Lindon he never left the library, not even to sleep. He's so well-renowned for it that even that-what was his name, Elrond?"

"Annatar."

"Yes, that evil creature called him 'wise in all lore.' Since then, they've taken to calling Elrond a Loremaster."

For some reason, Elrond didn't look up, his long hair covering a faint frown. His eyes stayed trained on the table as Gil-galad continued talking. 

"Wait, let me catch up. I've missed out on a thousand or so years of politics. Who's Annatar?" asked Glorfindel. 

"We don't know," answered Elrond honestly, looking relieved that the subject had been changed. "He appeared several hundred years ago, asking for permission to enter Lindon. I advised Gil-galad that it was a bad idea- I can't say why, but he gave me a bad feeling, and as I am known to have foresight in matters such as this, Ereinion refused him entry."

Gil-galad nodded slowly, picking a piece of meat from his teeth. "I got a bad feeling from him too. He went to Eregion instead and joined Celebrimbor's union of metalworkers, what was it called? Something pretentious."

"The Gwaith-i-Mírdain," prompted Elrond. Glorfindel was beginning to understand that this happened on a regular basis. 

"Yes, that. Pretentious. Annatar's been causing all sorts of trouble there. Glad to be rid of him."

"I have a feeling that he'll be back," murmured Elrond. "Hopefully I just worry too much."

Gil-galad squeezed Elrond's arm comfortingly. "Elrond here thinks he is going to age horribly."

"I'm rather hoping for it," said Elrond. "Maybe then people will take me seriously. Nothing like an ugly face to get others to listen to you."

"I listen to you," pouted Gil-galad. "Don't I?"

"You don't count."

Elrond had taken a kidding tone, but Glorfindel could see something in the way his shoulders were slumped that this had been troubling him. 

"You listen to Elrond, right?" pleaded Gil-galad, turning to Glorfindel.

"Y-Yes, I-"

Glorfindel was interrupted by Elrond stabbing his fork into the remains of his venison. "Give him time." 

Ignoring Glorfindel's presence, Gil-galad grabbed Elrond's hand and said desperately, "Oh, please don't be upset, I can't bear it-"

"I'm not upset," said Elrond, his voice calm again. "And I'm sorry if I upset either of you. I think it was the mention of Annatar that set me off. I cannot believe I let my control go, even a little. So, Glorfindel, have you been impressed by anything you've seen in Lindon? I'm sure it can't compare artistically to Valinor, but we aren't destitute of beauty here."

Surprised at the deftness that Elrond dispelled Gil-galad's worries and changed the subject at the same time, he was flustered into saying, "Er-yes-I like the decorating in your office, Elrond. I've never seen anything quite like it. And the gardens here are very nice too."

"I'm flattered. You're complimenting me more than Lindon itself," said Elrond, his tone light. "I designed both our rooms and gardens, as I refused to live with Ereinion's boar head above me."

"I liked that boar head," grumbled Gil-galad. "The poor thing has been relegated to my office."

"And the Valar know that Ereinion never goes in there," teased Elrond, popping a tomato in his mouth.

Glorfindel hadn't realized until then that the two of them shared quarters. It seemed to cement things in his mind and made him fully realize that Elrond wasn't a sort of high-profile courtesan or the fling of a romance-loving ruler. 

He found himself grinning. He was in good company, enjoying a beautiful night in the starlit gardens of a King and the son of legends, and most importantly, he was back in Middle-earth.


	3. Part One: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel learns a little about Elrond and a lot about his problems, so he sets out to help the Half-elf.

Second Age, July 10th, 1685. 8:17 A.M.

It was as much of a surprise to Glorfindel as it was to everyone else when Elrond Halfelven appeared at the entrance to the training quarters. The Gondorian warrior had spent the past fortnight training the youngest and most inept Elves to wield a sword, deciding it was prudent to start off with the most inexperienced and work his way up. He was making good progress, as these Elves were eager to learn and almost all of them displayed some degree of talent. 

He usually spent the first ten or twelve hours of his day training these Elves, then went to relax in his rooms or, if invited, dined with Elrond and the High King. However, he had never seen the war minister actually in the fighting quarters before, and as Elrond stepped foot onto the practice grounds, Glorfindel began to understand why.

Elrond was ethereal in the harsh sunlight, surrounded by young Elves with sun-streaked hair and brown skin. Glorfindel had never seen the Elf in full sunlight before, as they always dined after dusk. His pale skin glowed with an unhealthy pallor, and his long, formal robes were at odds with the sweat-stained tunics of the trainees.

Glorfindel heard the whispers start the moment Elrond walked in. Elves all around him were jeering, ridiculing, and whispering insults about the pale Elf. 'The High King's pet' and 'Gil-galad's bitch' were two of the nicest ones, and there were a few that Glorfindel wouldn't repeat under threat of torture. Glorfindel understood now Elrond's unhappiness at being called Loremaster- that was commonly tacked onto the end of an insult, such as 'the harlot Loremaster' or 'the whore Loremaster.'

This angered Glorfindel. This greatly angered Glorfindel. Over the past fortnight he had begun to greatly respect Elrond for his immense scholarly knowledge, not to mention his ability to reign in the often erroneous King. Hearing these Elves, who had probably never even spoken to Elrond, say cruel and terrible things like this was nearly unbearable to listen to. 

Elrond wasn't immune to the insults. While he held his head high, there was an undeniable flush creeping across his cheeks, and his eyes begged for Glorfindel to hurry up and talk to him. His slender fingers were gripped together in an iron-like vise, and Glorfindel quickly bowed his head to the student he had been about to spar with and strode over to Elrond. 

"Ereinion insisted that I bring you these papers," said Elrond quietly, not meeting Glorfindel's eyes. He reached into his robes and pulled out the sheaf of papers in question. "I apologize if you have difficulty reading them. I do not have exemplary handwriting."

Gil-galad had mentioned this paperwork- he'd said he'd have Elrond send it over yesterday. It was a roster of all the Elves registered with the army and their evaluated skill level, and Glorfindel had anticipated that it would help him a great deal. The papers, however, were not what mattered at the moment. He reached over and took the sheaf with shaking fingers, unable to contain his rage.

"Elrond-" he began.

"I know what you are going to say," said Elrond, still not moving. "Please, don't say it. Not in front of them. We can talk later."

With that, the Elf turned on his heels and left as quickly as he could without running. Glorfindel was left with a group of sneering young Elves that he suddenly liked considerably less. 

Second Age, July 10th, 1685. 3:43 P.M.

When Glorfindel entered Elrond's office, he found Elrond talking to a younger Elf dressed in the same serious garb as Elrond. As he approached he saw the the Elf had the same pale skin as Elrond, plus deep bags under his eyes. When he saw Glorfindel, he bowed and quickly exited.

"That was Erestor," said Elrond in response to Glorfindel's look. "He is a young scholar, and comes to me when he finds himself stumped. But no matter, as I doubt you care much for the problems of bookworms."

Glorfindel examined Elrond as he pulled up a chair. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he made no attempt to hide the wet handkerchiefs piled neatly on a corner of his desk.

"Their words bother me more than I care to admit," said Elrond wryly, gesturing to the handkerchiefs. "It is not easy to hear such words so carelessly thrown at you, especially not from so many."

"They do not respect you," admitted Glorfindel heavily.

"Nor should they," said Elrond evenly. "I have done nothing to gain their respect. I am no fighter. I have spend more than a millennia studying, not training. I cannot make up for that."

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. "You have done nothing to be called a harlot, a pet, or a whore, either."

Elrond closed his eyes briefly, and Glorfindel felt a pang of anger at himself, for reminding Elrond of those insults so easily. Then Elrond opened them again, and his gray eyes were made of steel.

"I know. As I have mentioned previously, I was appointed to this position by Ereinion. It is solely due to his insistence that I sit at this desk. I did not approve, and I still don't, but I have tried my best to fulfill my responsibilities. Now I fear that it will not be enough. I sense a war coming, a war that will set something larger in motion. I cannot allow someone as inept as myself to hold this seat, and although Ereinion will be...very indisposed...towards me, I will resign if I see the need."

"There's no need for that," Glorfindel found himself saying.

Elrond raised an eyebrow in quiet disbelief. "Oh no?"

"You plan to resign because the army does not respect you, and if they do not respect you than you cannot effectively lead them, right?"

"And I have no experience, do not forget that." 

Elrond leaned his well-shaped face on his ink-stained fingers and smiled. "What are you thinking, Yellow Flower?"

Glorfindel scowled at the nickname, but said, "If you need experience and respect, show them that you deserve it. Practice with them, train with them. Show them that you are worthy of your station and that you did not gain it by currying favor."

"I doubt that showing them my ineptitude for fencing will help me gain their respect," protested Elrond, smiling wider. 

"Train with me in secret, then go out and befriend them."

"Yes, befriend them. Sounds easy. They have only been demeaning me for two hundred years."

Two hundred years? "Why haven't you told the High King?"

"He is a good King, but he has been raised as such since birth. He does not understand the subtleties here, the fragile ecosystem. If he were to punish them, which he would do in a brash and unforgettable manner, I would never know peace again. No, better Ereinion think that I am almost happy in this position."

"So, what do you think of my plan?"

"I like it."

And Elrond laughed.

"Valar help me, I like it."

Second Age, July 11th, 1685. 5:55 A.M. 

Glorfindel met Elrond in Gil-galad's private training field the next morning and was surprised to find Elrond there, five minutes early, polishing his sword. He was wearing a too-large tunic cinched with a belt over a pair of equally large trousers. 

"They're Ereinion's," said Elrond, before Glorfindel said anything. "I'm afraid my last set of training tunics have crumbled to dust and I never bothered to replace them. The High King is a fair bit wider than me in the shoulders...and the waist."

"It'll do for today," decided Glorfindel. "But try to get a new set or two as soon as possible. You need to be comfortable before you can seriously train."

Elrond nodded seriously and sheathed his sword. The blade was long, longer than Glorfindel had seen at the practice halls in Lindon or even when he had fought in Gondolin. He could not remember seeing such a long handle for hundreds of years, not since before the First Age. The color of the sheath, brown with gold tengwar, was also unusual. Most Elves wanted brighter colors or colors that matched their liege lord, not brown. Glorfindel squinted at the tengwar and discovered that he couldn't read it. 

"It's not tengwar," explained Elrond. "It's Rúmil's original alphabet. It's a bit archaic, even for a Valinorian like yourself."

"What does it say?"

Elrond met his gaze evenly. "For my eldest son, Maedhros. May your begetting day be the start of a fruitful life."

Glorfindel's mouth dropped, if only slightly. His throat suddenly seemed to have completely dried up and he found himself incapable of speaking. He swallowed and managed to say, Elrond's all too understanding eyes watching him, "Is that safe to have here, in Lindon, with so many refugees of Nargothrond and Gondolin around?"

"As you may have noticed, it is not exactly easy to read. Those few with the knowledge usually have accepted the Fëanorians' actions. I refuse to renounce any part of my allegiance of those who raised me. It is not a bond easily broken."

Glorfindel lowered his head in agreement, and when he raised it Elrond looked immensely relieved. 

"Oh, good," he sighed, his pale face breaking out into a nervous smile. "I was afraid you'd refuse to teach me on moral grounds. It's happened before."

"Your personal beliefs have nothing to do with me teaching you, and if you wish to use a sword made by the greatest smith who ever lived, who can fault you there?"

Elrond nodded sharply. "Are we to train with real swords or practice swords?"

Glorfindel, assuming that Elrond would be proficient enough to parry with real swords, hadn't expected the question, and Elrond's handsome face flushed when Glorfindel didn't answer. 

"I-It's been a long time since I've practiced, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, we might be better off using-"

Glorfindel cut him off with a wave of the hand. "That's fine. I'll go fetch a set of practice swords, wait here."

He set off for the outbuilding where Gil-galad kept his training supplies, trying to hide his own blush. When Elrond looked at him with those big gray eyes framed by those thick eyelashes, biting his full lower lip in nervousness, stuttering his apprehension for swordplay, it made Glorfindel understand what had attracted Gil-galad to a young Elrond over a millennia earlier...

By the time Glorfindel returned, he had composed himself. He threw one of the wooden practice swords to Elrond and was pleased to see that he caught it, however awkwardly. He instructed Elrond to set aside his real sword, which he did quickly.

Glorfindel watched Elrond's stance carefully. It wasn't a complete mess, but it wasn't good. He shifted his weight onto his right too much and he wielded the sword with only his left hand, despite the wooden sword's weight. Glorfindel refrained from commenting on it, deciding to see Elrond's fighting style first.

"We'll spar, okay?" said Glorfindel. Elrond nodded. 

Glorfindel lunged, and Elrond parried it with a quick, jerky block. Glorfindel continued to attack, and each time Elrond barely managed to block the blow. Each hit visibly jarred Elrond's arms, and his face reddened each time his arm was clumsy.

"Stop," ordered Glorfindel, and Elrond lowered the sword at once.

Elrond opened his mouth to speak, but Glorfindel beat him to it. 

"If you're going to apologize, don't. You need not be embarrassed about your skills in swordplay. I have no doubt that if I were to step foot in Lindon's libraries that I would soon be hopelessly lost."

"Are you saying that I'm hopelessly lost?" retorted Elrond, cheeks still red. 

"No, it was an analogy," said Glorfindel reassuringly. "You're doing fine, but you need a lot of practice. Don't be ashamed of it, and don't think about anything other than the swordplay when you're training. Your mind must be here, not off worrying about whether or not you'll be good or mess up or anything, okay?"

Elrond glanced up at him with such a grateful look through those long eyelashes and licked his lips so coyly that Glorfindel felt the sudden need to loosen a collar that wasn't there. He had to be doing this on purpose! There's no way someone could be so accidently torturous!

"You're a lifesaver," breathed Elrond, unconsciously batting his eyelashes. "Where would I be without you?"

"Erk," replied Glorfindel.


	4. Part One: Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, in the course of one night, realizes why he's been sent back to Middle-earth.

Second Age, August 29th, 1685, 9:13 P.M.

Glorfindel was again humming a favorite Valinorian tune of his when Gil-galad finally opened the door to Elrond's office. He was alone, but his cheer wasn't visibly diminished and he smiled at Glorfindel. Glorfindel edged in the door and stood against the wall, feeling a pale blue drape shiver under his fingers.

"Look," said Gil-galad, holding up a picnic basket. "Dinner."

Glorfindel trailed after Gil-galad to their usual spot in the gardens and sat next to Gil-galad, unsure whether or not to mention Elrond's conspicuous absence.

"Elrond's training," said Gil-galad helpfully, taking a huge chuck out of a large platter of venison, chewing with his mouth open. If Glorfindel were inclined to slander his High King and liege lord, then he would have not hesitated to call him a unrepentedly violent eater. "I do believe you've created a monster, Glorfindel."

"I wha-I'm sorry, I've done what?" he spluttered, his mind making connections to Morgoth and Ungoliant and orcs and all heathen creatures he could think of.

Gil-galad snorted with laughter at Glorfindel's reaction, nearly causing wine to come spurting out the King's nose. "It was merely an expression. I only meant that my dear Elrond has become rather obsessed of late. He gets up earlier than I do to train, which often leaves me cross when I wake up to find myself alone, inevitably tangled up in the sheets as I get. And he is late for our usual trysts, which, to say the least, is just plain upsetting. He tells me that he is making up for lost time, and that I should not worry, but all the same I would like for you to ask him to ease up a bit."

"Your majesty," began Glorfindel seriously. "That is something I would never do and you know it. I'm not going to ask Elrond to stop trying to better himself. He has reasons for doing what he is, and once it's all over I'm sure he'll tell you. He is taking matters into his own hands and I respect him for that."

Gil-galad was silent, and Glorfindel began to worry that he had spoken too bluntly. Yes, the King was amazingly amicable and a pleasure to be with, but Glorfindel had never seen him roused to anger. And as Glorfindel had learned spending a lifetime in Turgon's inner court, a King who knew his power was a dangerous one. Glorfindel had no doubt that Ereinion Gil-galad had no doubt as to every inch of his strength.

Gil-galad's face broke back out into its customary smile, and Glorfindel was immensely relieved. The King poured another goblet of wine for himself before saying, "Yes, you're right of course. I trust Elrond. I was guilty of much the same thing relatively early in our relationship. I never stopped appreciating him, but I let my royal duties overtake my personal ones to an absurd degree, and Elrond rightfully knocked some sense into me. If Elrond gets to that point, I'll say something."

"I doubt he will, your majesty."

"Gil-galad," reminded the King.

"He is doing quite well," said Glorfindel, returning to the subject of Elrond's swordplay. "He has obviously been working hard, both in our training and on his own."

"Is he?" asked Gil-galad eagerly, slamming his goblet of wine back on the table hard enough to make a terrible cracking sound. "He refuses to let me watch him. Says it would be too embarrassing."

"He may have started out as a...well, a complete novice," admitted Glorfindel. "But over the past month he has more than proven himself capable of hard work, and he has a certain affinity for the art that can only come from natural talent. It will take some time, however, before he could hope to match you in battle, my liege."

Gil-galad raised a thick eyebrow. "You've never seen me fight, Yellow Flower."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "If you refuse to let me be complimentary about skills we both know you possess, then let me say it will be some time before he could face me in battle."

Gil-galad appraised this statement for a long moment. "That's good enough for me. Still, I worry. I fear that I have forced his hand into his position and now he feels obliged to fulfill duties he never wanted in the first place. I sometimes regret the decision to make him war minister, but he tells me that until the day he cannot perform his duties he will not resign."

Gil-galad seemed to have a better grasp on Elrond's inner thoughts than Glorfindel had expected. "You know him well, Gil-galad. That is exactly what he told me."

"He would be much happier if I had let him continue to breathe books rather than air...one day I will make it up to him. One day I will prove to him that I love and understand him."

Feeling that the conversation had taken a heavy turn, Glorfindel sipped at his wine and smiled weakly at the stormy-faced King. Gil-galad was twisting a chicken leg around so hard that the bones cracked and ripped apart. When he finally popped it into his mouth, he gave a groan of pain as pieces of splintered bone punctured his gums.

Glorfindel couldn't help but laugh. "That's why you don't play with your food."

Second Age, September 4th, 1685, 4:23 A.M.

"Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel was roused from a waking dream by a sharp tapping on his door. Blearily opening his eyes, he found that it was still dark, cool air blowing in through the large window behind his bed. Knowing that it must be important if he was being woken up this early, he jumped out of bed with the same speed and determination that helped him save so many refugees of Gondolin.

The messenger was badly startled when Glorfindel practically ripped the door off its hinges, his hand poised for another knock. Seeing that the city wasn't burning and there were no screaming civilians, Glorfindel relaxed slightly.

"What is it?" he asked tensely.

The messenger gulped and said, slightly nervously, "A meeting's been called, sir. There's been an emergency meeting called in the High King's office."

"And I've been summoned?" asked Glorfindel, surprised.

The messenger nodded. "The King says your expertise and judgement may be useful in this situation, sir."

"I'll accept that. Lead me there then."

Glorfindel followed the messenger to Gil-galad's office, marveling that he had never been in it before. The morning air was brisk, the black sky holding only the merest hint that it would relinquish its hold on the sun and allow light to flood Middle-earth. Things were indeed different than they used to be, more different than anyone born after the destruction of the Trees could fathom.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Glorfindel followed the messenger past Elrond's offices and Elrond and Gil-galad's shared rooms. It was only a short time after that that that they arrived at a solemn, official-looking building with Gil-galad's heraldic symbol emblazoned on the front.

When Glorfindel entered, he walked down a short corridor to a spacious office where a boar's head was indeed stationed about a carved wooden desk, behind which Gil-galad was standing, dressed in a tunic hastily thrown over nightclothes. Elrond, standing beside him, wore a heavy, deep red nightgown. Gil-galad yawned as he entered, but Elrond looked perfectly awake, hands crossed tightly behind his back.

"What's going on?" asked Glorfindel immediantly. He looked around and saw five or six high-ranking ministers and council members. The messenger dipped his head and scurried out of the room, leaving Glorfindel unsure of what to do.

"We have received a messenger," said Gil-galad gravely. He was far more serious than Glorfindel had ever seen him, his piercing eyes narrowed as he silently considered their options. "From Galadriel."

Glorfindel wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, so he looked around and saw that the minister and council members' faces were stricken with fear and worry. Not a good thing, then.

"She has confirmed to us that Annatar, who visited Lindon several centuries ago, is Sauron the Deceiver, formerly in the service of Morgoth. She says that he is amassing an army, attempting to rival the might of his predecessor. and let us hope that he never succeeds."

Gil-galad paused, giving them a moment to let this sink in. Glorfindel, unlike the others, was struck with a sudden deep sense of purpose. This was why he had been sent back to Middle-earth. It was for this that he was the only reborn Elf to return to Middle-earth. He needed to help Lindon, and all free peoples, survive this new might of Sauron. His newfound power began to seep through his remade skin and he had to consciously reign himself in so that he didn't begin to shine. 

Gil-galad and Elrond exchanged a look heavy with meaning before Gil-galad continued. "We need to begin to prepare for war, whether or not it comes. Ministers, begin preparations respective to your areas of expertise. I will conduct meetings with each of you in turn to determine our exact plans. As for the councillors present, I expect each of you to relate what I have told you to the rest of the council. We will hold a meeting as soon as I am able. Remember, this is top secret- if this leaks out to the court I will have someone's head, understand? You are dismissed."

Everyone in the room nodded and Elves began moving towards the dooor. Glorfindel moved with them, still curious as to why he had been summoned.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Gil-galad sharply. "I haven't dismissed you."

Glorfindel turned around, startled, and walked back up to the High King and Elrond, who had remained silent. His gray eyes darted to Glorfindel's face, containing a level of depth that Glorfindel was unprepared for.

"You have been sent back to Middle-earth to help us with this, haven't you?" asked Gil-galad.

The day before, Glorfindel wouldn't have known how to reply. Now, he said, "Yes."

"Then I am right in telling you this. Galadriel has also informed us that Celebrimbor has contacted us."

"Celebrimbor?" asked Glorfindel. "Not the son of Curufin?"

"The very same."

"Didn't you say he had a union of metalworkers? The...the Gwaith-i-Mírdain?"

"Yes," said Gil-galad. "I am telling you this, and no one else, because I know that no matter how hard I try, things will leak. What Celebrimbor has sent us cannot leak. If you have been sent by the Valar then you will understand."

Glorfindel glanced at Elrond, whose face was carefully free from all emotion.

"I understand."

"Celebrimbor has forged Rings, Lord Glorfindel. He, with Sauron's help, forged nine Rings for the race of Men and seven for the Dwarves. Sauron, using this information, has forged himself his own Ring, the One Ring, to rule all others with. The Rings that Sauron helped forge will slowly bend to his power. Sauron will be able to control all of MIddle-earth if we don't stop him."

It was Elrond who spoke next. "Things would look bleak, very bleak, if Celebrimbor has not forged, without Sauron's help, three more Rings. Rings for us, for Elves, that may serve as a refuge in the storm that is to come. One, he has given to Galadriel."

"What about the other two?" said Glorfindel.

Elrond unlocked a drawer in Gil-galad's desk and pulled out a small, wooden box. He drew another key from the folds of his nightclothes and unlocked the box, opening it with his slender fingers that even now were stained with ink. He turned it towards Glorfindel silently.

Glorfindel suddenly found himself short of breath. Two rings, two beautiful, nearly flawless rings had been presented to him. One was made of pure gold with a blue stone in the center and seemed to shine effortlessly. The other was set with a red stone that blazed as though it was on fire.

"They are Vilya and Narya. According to Celebrimbor, Vilya is the greater of the two. I am keeping Vilya. Narya, I shall soon send Narya to Círdan- it is my belief that we must spread the Rings to the greatest Elvish strongholds so that they will serve as islands of refuge during war, so that Elves may view them as bastions of peace."

This sounded inexplicably elegant to have come from Gil-galad's mouth. Glorfindel hazarded a glance at Elrond, who was keeping a very straight face. If one looked closely, however, one could see a muscle in the corner of Elrond's mouth twitching ever-so-slightly.

"In the words of my esteemed war minister here, of course," added Gil-galad.

"Of course," echoed Elrond, now visibly struggling not to laugh.

"What about Celeborn in Eregion?" asked Glorfindel. In his short stay in Lindon he had tried his best to gather as much information about the politics of the day, and he didn't understand why they weren't at least considering Celeborn.

Gil-galad and Elrond raised their eyebrows almost simulatenously. It was rather alarming.

"I am not supposed to have opinions on matters such as this," said Elrond, his voice calm, "Let it suffice to say that if Celeborn is without Galadriel, than there is no reason to pay him any heed. He has been, if we are being candid, disregarded by both Elves and orcs as a serious threat."

Elrond paused to consider his words. He closed the box containing the Rings and locked it back into its drawer. "We must not forget that Galadriel too has a Ring. When she is reunited with her spouse, it would be unwise of her to be in such close proximity of another Ring...especially given her nature."

"Her nature?" Glorfindel had known little about the mysterious daughter of Finarfin when he had lived in the sheltered Gondolin, and had learned little since.

"She is a beautiful, powerful woman who has the capacity for great kindness...a capacity she does not always fulfill. She has always craved power, and there was a time when she woul not have stopped for anything to attain it. She has changed, I believe, but trusting anyone with two Rings would be a mistake, let alone her."

Gil-galad nodded through all of this and, once Elrond had finished, added, "Elrond summed it all up, except that Galadriel can be a right stuck-up pain in the ass when she wants to be."

"So can you, love," said Elrond, pecking Gil-galad on the check. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you now. It's early enough still that I may sleep an hour or so before I must wake for our morning training session, Glorfindel. Good night."

Elrond bowed slightly before departing, undoubtedly heading for his and the King's chambers. Gil-galad watched him go with a slightly wistful look. "I'm always randy after early morning meetings of state, and he knows it. I'm off to go see if I can convince him to forgo that hour of sleep..."

And he bounded out the door, leaving Glorfindel to spend the next hour trying not to imagine what was happening behind the King's closed doors.

Second Age, September 10th, 1685, 7:47 A.M. 

"Elrond?"

Glorfindel watched the stunning Elf sheath his sword, brushing flyaway strands of inky hair behind his ears, his chest heaving. Glorfindel himself felt a strange constricted feeling in his lungs that had nothing to do with with the swordplay.

"Yes, Glorfindel?"

"You're ready to go into the training field, Elrond. You have been for some time."

Elrond's face closed off quickly, but not before Glorfindel got a glimpse of something like fear. "Are you sure I'm ready? I'm afraid that if I go now I'll make a fool of myself and then no one ever will respect me."

"Elrond, these aren't bad Elves. Once they see that you're really trying to better yourself and learn how to fight they'll come around. It's the effort that matters, not the skill."

One look at Elrond's face prompted Glorfindel to continue hastily by saying, "Regardless of that, however, is the fact that you are rapidly approaching the mid-level training stage after only two months. What you lack in experience you have made up with hard work. Many of my Elves only train the few hours that we do directly in the field, but I know you go far beyond that- that's why I'm certain you'll be fine."

Elrond took a deep breath. "Thank you. I will take your words to heart. When do you want me to come train with...with everyone?"

"Tomorrow," decided Glorfindel. "Let's not bother with putting them off. I think I'll have a quick snack before I go over there. Care to join me?"

Elrond hesitated, then shook his head, his mouth set. "No, I think I'll stay here and train a little more."

He drew his sword in one fluid moment, unaware how much he had improved in the last few months.

"Don't wear yourself out, Elrond," said Glorfindel. He had to resist the temptation to look behind him and watch Elrond as he walked away. He didn't think it was healthy to spend too much time looking at a sweaty, attractive, taken Elf.


	5. Part One: Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond arrives for his first training session with the other Elves while Glorfindel tries not to think about his developing feelings for a certain war minister.

Second Age, September 11th, 1685. 7:58 A.M. 

As Glorfindel watch the young trainees finish trickling into the field, he felt his worry grow. Elrond knew as well as he did how it would look if he was late; so where was he? Had he decided not to come? Glorfindel had thought he'd looked anxious but determined when he'd left him the day before, not at all like he was going to skip out on the session. Had he overestimated Elrond?

No, he decided. He hadn't. It was just as he thought this that Elrond walked onto the training field, jaw set, wearing the plain tunic all trainees wore. It was so jarring to see Elrond like this, his pale (less pale, now, due to his exercise and training) face and long black hair pulled back in no more than a simple ponytail, that the other Elves did not recognize him at first. It was only when they had huddled into a group around Glorfindel and realized that there was a newcomer among them that heads turned in his direction. Elrond didn't give any sign of having noticed the attention, but Glorfindel knew it was only a facade.

Glorfindel cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Okay, everyone, we'll start with our-"

"Lord Glorfindel?"

The first person to mention Elrond's presence was not, as Glorfindel had expected, a large, opinionated Elf that spent all their days in this training field, but one of the younger Elves who was training only in case there was an emergency that caused the whole of Lindon to go to war.

"Yes, Alcarin?"

"Is he...is he supposed to be here?" Alcarin nervously jerked his head towards Elrond.

"Yes, Lord Elrond is going to be joining us for some time."

"But...why?"

Most of the other Elves seemed torn between amusement at Alcarin and distaste for Elrond and seemed to be waiting for Glorfindel to speak before doing anything. 

"Any Elf in Lindon who wishes to train here may do so, Alcarin, and I make it a point not to interrogate them as to why. If Lord Elrond wishes to tell you, then you may ask him."

"I find it necessary to my duties to have a higher level of proficiency in regards to swordplay," said Elrond suddenly, his voice flat and calm. "As many have pointed out to me over the years, I am not as qualified for my position as I would hope." 

This seemed to send a ripple of surprise through all of the Elves, and there was a long moment of silence before a cheery, bulky Elf that rather reminded Glorfindel of Gil-galad said, "Lord Elrond, if you wanted to spar with me, I'm open." 

Glorfindel laughed, and everyone's attention shifted back to him. "I actually was going to open today's training session with a run around the field, although you're welcome to spar afterwards, Tarcil."

Tarcil gripped Elrond's shoulder and grinned before setting off on a brisk lap around the field with the other Elves, leaving Elrond to stand there looking confused before quickly realizing what he was supposed to be doing and joining them. 

Glorfindel gave himself a moment or two to relish in the idea that this might actually work before joining the group. 

Second Age, September 11th, 1685. 7:45 P.M.

Glorfindel approached Elrond's office cautiously, uncertain as to whether or not now was a good time to knock. He did anyway, figuring Elrond wasn't the sort who'd throw an ink-pot at him just for disturbing him. 

Elrond answered the door a minute later. "Yes, come in, I was hoping you would stop by. I have rather a lot of work to do, so I hope you'll excuse me for not giving you my complete attention. Help yourself to a cup of tea if you'd like."

Glorfindel did, noticing that it was still warm. Someone must have just brought it in. He took one look at the uncomfortable chairs and made his usual decision to stand. 

Elrond sat at his desk amidst a sea of papers whose order made sense only to Elrond. He resumed his work, and Glorfindel once again noticed how awkward his style of writing was, his hand held high above the paper. 

"It's awful, isn't it?" said Elrond conversationally, never taking his eyes off his work. "Being left-handed. I pray for the day someone invents ink that's already dry when you put it to paper." 

"Do you think someone will?"

"If someone doesn't, I will," replied Elrond, smirking. "Enough of this. I doubt you came here today to banter about my devil writing."

Glorfindel wished he knew what that meant, but as Elrond obviously wished to move on, he filed it away for another day.

"Yes, you're right. I came to discuss your performance today at the training field." 

Glorfindel wished he hadn't phrased it so formally, because Elrond looked up to give him a nervous smile that caused Elrond to blot his page and resulted in a completely different reaction in Glorfindel. He struggled to keep his cool and focused on what he was about to say next.

"It was fine, Elrond, don't worry. It was more than fine, actually. Not only did you perform well, but the Elves were surprised to see you there and many seemed to be ready to give you a chance. As long as you keep coming I think this plan may work."

Elrond sighed and chewed his lip. "Of course I plan to keep coming, that's the whole reason we did this. But I'm worried, Glorfindel. I'm going to have to leave early most days, my work demands it. I even did some extra work yesterday so I wouldn't be overwhelmed after training, but I've still got piles left. It's going to look bad, I know, but it can't be helped."

Glorfindel privately agreed with Elrond, but he said, "I'm sure if you keep coming, they'll understand that you're not just blowing it off. In fact..." Glorfindel had just had an idea, a good one. "...why don't you send someone to come get you at the time you need to go? They can make it sound like you have to go, like you've been summoned...well, not by the King, that wouldn't help, but by someone important, and you can make a big show of not wanting to leave, but you have to. Does that sound like it could work?"

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it could work every day?"

"Sure, if you play it right. It could also help impress on them how much work you do, because I don't think they realize that. They probably think you...you..." Glorfindel tried to think of a way to end that sentence that wasn't insulting. 

"Spend all my time lying naked on Ereinion's bed, waiting for him to finish his silly duties so he can get back to me?" suggested Elrond wryly.

Glorfindel felt his face color. "Not exactly like that, no."

"But close enough. Again, Glorfindel, you have proved invaluable to me. I cannot give you enough thanks."

"You don't need to. It's a pleasure to help you." 

Glorfindel bowed slightly, out of habit more than anything else, and Elrond said, his long eyelashes lowered as they concentrated on his paperwork, "You may go, Glorfindel. Go wherever you go when you're not with us."

"Back to my rooms then, to read." 

Elrond laughed at that, and his deep voice sent a bolt of lighting straight down Glorfindel's stomach. He hurried out of the office. 

Or, he thought guiltily, I'm off to my rooms to engage in a far less wholesome activity. 

Second Age, September 27th, 1685. 6:45 A.M.

"Oh, hello, Elrond," greeted Glorfindel, pausing in his exercises to greet the Half-elf. "You're a bit early, only us officers are here. Any particular reason, or just here for a bit of early training?" 

Elrond had been training every day since that nerve-wracking first day, and Glorfindel was glad to say that general attitude towards Elrond had improved. It was true that many thought that this was a passing whim of his and was going to drop it in due time, while many others claimed to know that Elrond was only doing it to please the High King. A few had cottoned onto the truth and said Elrond was there to stay. The jeers and insults to Elrond's face had stopped, while the gossip was so concentrated on his appearance at training that people were completely forgetting to call him nasty names.

As for their plan to have Elrond summoned out of practice early every day, it was working quite perfectly, and Glorfindel rarely heard Elves say that they didn't think Elrond was working hard anymore. 

"A particular reason, I'm afraid," said Elrond. Glorfindel now noticed that Elrond was wearing the same heavy robes as the night before, only now they were crumbled and ink-stained. There were dark shadows under the Half-elf's large gray eyes, and his smile was tired.

"Ereinion and I have been up all night, going over plans. The Enemy is amassing an army and he's pointing it right at us. We have finally agreed to call out our reserve troops and send them to the training grounds so they can brush up their skills."

"For how long?" asked Glorfindel. 

"Until war."

"You...definitely think that's going to happen?"

"Yes."

Glorfindel thought. "I know you're pressed for experienced soldiers, but you're going to have to find some. We can't train many more than we have coming right now. When are they reporting for training?"

"Tomorrow."

Glorfindel gaped at Elrond, who smiled thinly.

"It was all I could do to get Ereinion to delay it that much. He is under the impression that we must do everything in haste, although I believe that it may be several years before us or the Enemy is ready to go to war. I will comb our archives and pull every soldier who's been to battle out of retirement as soon as possible. The ones who lives in the capital, you'll see tomorrow. It will take some time for the ones who live all around Lindon, so you'll have to make do." 

"Yes, sounds good. Thanks for keeping me informed."

Elrond sighed. "I'd like to stay and train with you, but I need to get cleaned up." 

"We have extra sets of tunics in the back of the changing rooms," said Glorfindel cheerily. "You're welcome to use one of those. I can't promise that they're gorgeous, but they're clean."

Elrond hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, that's what they're there for. Just throw your robes on the back wall, no one will touch them."

Elrond smiled tentatively and set off towards the changing rooms. Glorfindel concentrated on his push-ups so he wouldn't feel tempted to watch Elrond's backside as he retreated.

"Ridiculous," he muttered.

He heard a low chuckle behind him and turned to see another officer behind him, a warrior woman who was old for Lindon, having fought in the War of Wrath. 

"Ridiculous?" she repeated, smiling. "Yes, I think so too. Ridiculous that one should be so attractive."

"Telperien..." he said, exasperated, not really at her, but her ability to grasp the truth so quickly. 

"In fact, I might chase him myself if I didn't fear the wrath of the King."

He ignored her and continued his push-ups. She didn't look like she was going anywhere, so he finally said, "He is devoted to the King, Telperien. He cares about Gil-galad more than anyone."

"I know," Telperien replied. "You might want to remember that."

He grunted in response, and she laughed. "Hurry up with those push-ups, I want to spar with you. Give you a chance to beat me for once."

Glorfindel was reduced to mere syllables as she sat on his back.


	6. Part One: Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visitor comes to Lindon, bearing important news. Glorfindel, for once, isn't sure how he feels about him.

Second Age, November 23rd, 1685. 3:12 P.M.

Winter was slow in coming, thought Glorfindel decidedly as he watched two low-level trainees clashing swords, both drenched in sweat. The air was chill, perhaps, but not nearly as cold as it should have been, and the trees had yet to shed any leaves.

He was dealing with the new influx of trainees admirably well, he privately thought. Most had come completely unprepared for war; most were barely past their majority and nervous about the idea of combat. It pained Glorfindel to think that soon many would lose their young lives in combat against a foe they hardly understood. He and the warriors Elrond had rustled up were devoting as much of their time as possible getting these Elves into shape.

Deep in thought, he glanced to the left and raised his eyebrows in slight surprise.

Alcarin was running towards him wearing a look of great excitement, his dark hair falling out of its braid. Glorfindel waited for him to approach, and when he was within earshot, said, "What's the big news?"

"Lord Celebrimbor has arrived!" he said, looking both thrilled and nervous. "He's come from the South, not from Eregion, and he says he must council with the King!"

"Lord Celebrimbor?" repeated Glorfindel, thinking that this was a surprise.

"Yes! He's adamant about council with the King!"

Seeing Alcarin's flushed face caused Glorfindel to realize that there were precious few Princes of any Elf-kind left, let alone Princes of the Noldor. He thought of the days when Beleriand was split between a dozen Princes, all worthy of their titles (regardless of their personalities). He also realized that the sounds of swordplay had stopped, and saw that everyone in the training field had heard Alcarin's loud proclamation. The faces in front of him ranged from stormy to wistful to curious to downright hostile. Glorfindel reflected that Lindon was composed of all races of Elf. from all of the surviving kingdoms, and any surviving members of Doriath or Sirion weren't likely to be well-disposed to a Fëanorian.

He whistled with two of his fingers, bringing their attention back to him. "Hey! Now isn't the time to worry ourselves with the affairs of court. Get back to training!"

He needn't have bothered, because no more than five minutes later an irritated loremaster Glorfindel vaguely recognized stormed into the training field, bearing a message for Glorfindel.

"The King would like you to report to Lord Elrond's office at your leisure," said the Elf, looking positively alarming. Glorfindel remembered his name; Erestor. "And by like, he means go, and by at your leisure, he means now."

"And he sent you?"

Erestor did not seem happy about this; his expression soured further. "My point exactly. I happened to be discussing a piece of literature with Elrond at the time and was the only other one in the room. Please tell the King that I am not a messenger and that I do not take kindly to being used like a bird."

He turned on his heel and left, Glorfindel calling, "Thank you!" after him. Again, all activity had stopped, but Glorfindel didn't have time to think about it as he excused himself, told them all to keep practicing, and raced towards Elrond's office.

When he arrived, he found that it was only Elrond and Gil-galad waiting for him. Elrond, he was surprised to see, looked like he was barely containing his delight.

"Ah, Glorfindel, there you are. I trust Erestor delivered the message?" said Gil-galad, watching Elrond pace the room with ill-concealed amusement.

Glorfindel laughed sheepishly. "Yes, but I don't think you should rely on him for carrying messages. He wasn't exactly pleased."

"No doubt," said Elrond absently. "Next time you would do better to go yourself, Ereinion. Erestor is no errand boy."

"Not even for his King?"

"Not for messages. I pray you don't hang him, though, he's as good a scribe as I've ever seen and has a real passion for the texts. Don't you think Celebrimbor should be done at the stables by now, Ereinion?"

"He'll get here when he gets here, love," replied Gil-galad, giving Glorfindel an 'isn't he precious?' look that Glorfindel wasn't planning to return.

Elrond ran his hand through his hair only to discover that it was intricately braided and actually growled in his annoyance. Glorfindel was quite relieved when an Elf entered and announced that the Lord Celebrimbor was almost there.

When the knock on the door came, it was Elrond who ran forward and answered it. Glorfindel and Gil-galad followed him down the hall, where Celebrimbor was looking at all the portraits on the walls.

"Where did you get the one of Elenwë?" asked the Elf, pointing to a portrait of a young female Elf of great beauty. She was positively beaming at the painter, who had expertly captured her emotions.

"A group of Green-elves had it in a collection of relics from Gondolin. They had no idea what it was. I think it might be the only one of her outside of Valinor."

"You're probably right, Elrond," replied the Elf thoughtfully, turning to Glorfindel and Gil-galad.

"Your majesty," he said, giving Gil-galad a low bow with an extra flourish that Glorfindel found amusing.

Celebrimbor faced Glorfindel for the first time and Glorfindel got his first good look at the Elf. He was rather shorter and stouter than, not only Elrond and Gil-galad, but Glorfindel too, who was more average height. He kept his black hair tied back with a thick cord and his face and hands were tan and weathered from extended exposure to fire. He had a large scar running from his left temple to his right eyebrow that had faded with age, and he wore worn clothes that would not look out of place at his forge.

Elrond enveloped the smaller man in a crushing hug. "It's been forever."

"I know, but you always decline my invitations to Eregion," replied Celebrimbor with a twist of his lips. "We are both busy men, it seems. And who is this?"

"Glorfindel," he said as they moved into the main office. "You may not remember me, but we have met before."

"Of the House of the Yellow Flower?" said Celebrimbor, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. "You were one of Turgon's marchwardens, were you not?"

"Yes, I was. I'm surprised you remember me."

Celebrimbor gave a bark-like laugh. "Who doesn't? Although I admit I had more pressing matters on my mind at the time, your defeat of the Balrog is legendary. I was just trying to place you in my memory. We attended many of the same feasts in Hithlum, I think."

"You were much younger then, weren't you?" said Glorfindel, recalling a young boy who sat with the sons of Fëanor, looking impatient and often rather sooty.

"That's what it means when something happened long ago," said Celebrimbor, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs Glorfindel hated so much. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, and Celebrimbor chuckled. "No offense meant. I used to get in trouble with my elders for my attitude."

"Ada used to speak of it quite often," said Elrond fondly. "He always teased us and told us we'd grow up as bad as that Celebrimbor."

This caught Glorfindel off guard. Why would Eärendil know anything about Celebrimbor's upbringing, especially considering his history with the Fëanorians? He caught Gil-galad's meaningful look and realized; Maglor. Elrond was referring as Maglor as his father.

Celebrimbor grinned for a second before his face fell into lines of misery. "As much as I'd like to reminisce, I'm here on a far more important errand. I assume Lord Glorfindel is here because he can be trusted?"

"Implicitly," said Elrond, smiling grimly.

"You recieved my news that Sauron is amassing an army?"

"Yes, we did," said Gil-galad sharply. "Do you have more news?"

"Yes," said Celebrimbor bitterly. "I do. He has subtly begun to position his army around various places in Eriador. I wouldn't know about most of them if I hadn't nearly ridden right into them on the way here. This makes me thinks there are countless encampments of his troops hidden in Eriador, most of them centered around Eregion. He has spies, Gil-galad. His spies are hidden everywhere."

"By everywhere..." said Gil-galad slowly.

"Everywhere," repeated Elrond softly. "Even amongst the court of Lindon, I presume."

Celebrimbor nodded swiftly. "Do not take it as a personal slight, your majesty," he said. "It is the truth. If I am honest, your country is faring far better than mine in terms of traitors."

"Is that how you, the Lord of Eregion, came to be doing recon?" asked Glorfindel shrewdly. "It's not usually common practice for the rulers of a nation to sneak around looking for orcs."

Celebrimbor laughed harshly. "Yes, it is. I've found the need to take a break from my own people, people who are hopelessly divided between Lady Galadriel and her foolish placeholder of a husband and myself. When Sauron begins to rain arrows down upon us I fear we will be too busy squabbling to take heed. I fear for Eregion."

They talked for hours, until night fell and Elbereth's stars began to shine. They talked of politics, of where the various realms stood in regards to war with Sauron (Oropher's still ignoring me, commented Celebrimbor, mad about something or other my uncles did), of communications with Númenor (send them a letter ages ago and still haven't heard back, said Gil-galad). Celebrimber broguht great light on all the powers and dangers of his Rings, beaming as he described his craft. They formed an official alliance in light of Sauron's approach and talked so long that, by the time they were done, Glorfindel's legs were stiff and aching and his stomach rumbling.

Gil-galad yawned loudly. "Glad we've hashed everything out now. Glorfindel, want to talk a walk down to the kitchens and see if they've got any leftovers? I'm starving."

Glorfindel readily agreed and looked at Elrond, who shook his head and squeezed Gil-galad's hand. The obvious love between the two, however brief, made Glorfindel's stomach twist in an emotion akin to jealously.

"Let's go," he said heavily, forcing his gaze away. "I think my stomach might eat itself in hunger."

"Don't say such things," murmured Elrond, almost to himself as they left. "You never know what could happen."

Glorfindel and Gil-galad left through Elrond's back door, taking a moment as they stepped outside to enjoy the sounds and smells of the night air. They began to walk, and it took some time before Gil-galad spoke.

"I like to give them as much time to catch up as I can," said Gil-galad. "They haven't gotten together for, what, two hundred years now? Elrond misses him, I can tell."

Glorfindel, who hadn't exactly fallen over with joy at Celebrimbor's personality, found this surprising. "Why?"

"They're family. They're all each other has left when it comes to remembering the side of Elvish royalty people try to forget," said Gil-galad, smirking. He plucked an apple out of a tree as they walked and took a huge bite from it.

"You mean the Fëanorians?" confirmed Glorfindel.

Gil-galad made an immensely disgusted face and spat out the chunk of apple onto the ground. Glorfindel saw half a worm wriggling inside it and looked away, suddenly queasy. Gil-galad plucked the other half of the worm out of the apple, flicked it off his finger, and continued eating his apple. Glorfindel stared at him.

"What?" said Gil-galad through a mouthful of apple.

"Elrond lets you kiss him with that mouth?" said Glorfindel in a tone of high amusement.

Gil-galad laughed, spewing chunks of apple everywhere. "You'd be surprised," he chuckled, a gleam in his eye that made Glorfindel wish he hadn't said anything.

Glorfindel stuck his hands in his pockets and said, "Forgive me if this is too personal, but I was wondering...does Elrond...how does Elrond feel about his father?"

"Which one?" replied Gil-galad promptly. He had a knowing look on his face that said he'd been expecting this.

Glorfindel didn't reply immediately, letting that sink in. "So Elrond doesn't hate them? The Fëanorians?"

"No," said Gil-galad. "He doesn't. For a long time he was very conflicted about it, but in the end he's decided to accept that he loves Maglor and Maedhros, knowing full well what they did and why they did it. That doesn't mean he doesn't love Eärendil and Elwing, you understand. It's complicated."

"Yes," mused Glorfindel. "I do understand. He showed me his sword when we first started training, but I didn't ask him about it."

"Really? He wouldn't have done that for a lot of people," said Gil-galad.

They had reached the kitchens, where Elves were cleaning up from dinner. They quickly prepared Glorfindel and Gil-galad a basket to take into the gardens and sent them off with good cheer. Gil-galad couldn't seem to help himself when it came to food; he left bearing not only the basket but had several buttered rolls cradled in his arms and at least two in his mouth.

Glorfindel plucked a roll form Gil-galad's clutches and chewed on it, his stomach churning at what he had decided to say.

Glorfindel was an Elf of action. He did not like harboring secrets, especially ones that felt like they were going to eat him from the inside out. He firmly believed in being open and friendly, and knew that he'd feel better about himself the moment he told someone what was on his mind. That's why, as they settled down under a huge oak tree to eat, he said, his throat suddenly dry and thick and scarily unmanageable, "I'm beginning to harbor feelings for Elrond."


	7. Part One: Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad and Glorfindel talk, and Glorfindel learns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, for the reader who was worried about updates- this story is also on SWG and FF.net, and is more than twice as far. It's under the same name, so it wouldn't be hard to find. :)

Second Age, November 23rd, 1685. 11:20 P.M.

Glorfindel expected there to be a long, awkward silence, ending with Gil-galad exploding with righteous anger or kicking him out of the court and their friendship. He did not expect Gil-galad to turn to him and say, still smiling, "Is that so? I thought that might be the case."

Glorfindel opened his mouth but nothing came out. When he could finally speak, he managed, "B-But...I just...aren't you...?"

Gil-galad's smile turned understanding. "Did you think we let you into our closet confidences after so short of a time based solely on your defeat of the Balrog, Golden Flower? I assure you, we did not. Elrond spent many hours combing Turgon's letters in the archives, along with any and all reports of the Gondolindrim for mention of you."

"Really?" he replied, surprised. "I had no idea."

"It was only to confirm our trust in you; Elrond foresaw your arrival, and he knew you would need to be trusted and kept close if his vision was correct."

"And was it?"

Gil-galad, who had just slurped a large amount of wine, dribbled wine down his chin as he laughed and said, "Do you think you'd be dining here if it wasn't?"

Glorfindel was silent for a long moment. "But...what does my trustworthiness have to do with my feelings for Elrond?"

Gil-galad completely dropped his lightheartedness; Glorfindel had never seen him this serious, not even in war council. "Everything. I trust you not to act on your feelings for him; I trust that you will find in yourself a way to move on. Elrond had suffered more than you know, Glorfindel. I will tell you, if only to help you understand what drew us together and why he is how he is."

Gil-galad paused, taking time to sit back against the oak tree's wide trunk, before he continued. Glorfindel could tell that the King was choosing his words carefully.

"Elrond came to the Isle of Balar nearly thirty years into the War of Wrath; the Fëanorians brought the twins to us when it became clear that Beleriand was sinking and they worried the roads would soon become too perilous. Maglor and Maedhros disappeared after that, and no one heard from them until they stole the Silmarils. However, there are reports of two unnamed heroes performing great deeds of valor on the battlefield, and there is good reason to believe they spent the last twelve years of the war fighting. Elrond and I certainly believe it," said Gil-galad, pausing to finally wipe the wine off his chin. "During this time, people were too concerned with the war to care much about Elrond and Elros, whatever their lineage may be...after the war, once Lindon had been established, was a different matter.

"When things finally settled down, Elrond was only around seventy years old. Not an adult by our people, but Half-elves grow at a different rate, and he and his brother were quite mature. I myself was only around one hundred and twenty, a fact that is not commonly known; citizens of this nation do not like to think of their leader as little more than a child when he founded it. I was scared, scared I would commit the same mistake as my predecessors, who, as a rule, did not end well. I did not have time for the concerns of Half-elves with little importance to the realm. While I struggled to govern, Elrond suffered greatly."

Gil-galad sighed and closed his eyes, letting old memories resurface before continuing, "Elros was different than Elrond. They were identical in face but completely different in manner. Elros was brash and loud and honest with everyone, and his looks were dominated by his personality, which everyone knew not to trifle with. While he was there, Elrond had nothing to fear. But when he left, things went bad for Elrond.

"Elrond is gorgeous, Glorfindel, I am sure that you've noticed it. He is stunningly beautiful, even by the standards of our people, and it comes in no small part because he is descended from Lúthien. He is, in many ways, her male form...and it was even more apparent when he was young. Lush, that's how I heard him described in the early Lindon court days. Lush and ripe for the picking."

Gil-galad's face darkened so much that Glorfindel knew that whatever came next was not going to be pleasant.

Unmarried Elves often spent centuries of their adult life unmarried, especially in times of war, when marriage was forbidden. No matter how one tried to suppress them, no member of the Eldar could hide their urges and needs forever, and so a delicate system had arisen. Male Elves often spent their years before marriage engaged in any number of sordid affairs with each other before settling down to marriage, which, for most Elves, was the eventual goal. Glorfindel was fairly certain female Elves did the same, although, being as discreet as they were, he could never be sure.

Some Elves naturally preferred one gender over the other and bonded accordingly, and while they were not often talked about, they usually coexisted with their conventionally married neighbors in peace. Glorfindel found it difficult to identify either way, as he had been attracted to both genders in the past, and had long since decided to take long as it came.

Gil-galad calmed himself and continued. "The Elrond you know is quite capable of dealing with his own problems; he is collected, witty, and likable. He balances his scholarly interests with his work and is quite efficient at it. The Elrond of the early Second Age was a different person. He was quiet, partly because his brother had so overshadowed him, partly because he was in an environment drastically different form where he'd been raised, where the people he'd been raised by were considered traitors, and partly because, in the end, Elrond is a quiet person. He was very shy, and was more in love with literature than an Elf I have or probably ever will meet. He spent hours and hours in the library and rarely attended public functions, actions that were seen as aloof by the public. He began to find himself hounded by suitors while being treated with disrespect for his age. Many claimed he did not deserve the status of adulthood, and many of these Elves were the very same who dogged his steps.

"At first, most had noble intentions, only wanting to see for themselves the beautiful young son of Eärendil. But, the longer Elrond went without returning anyone's affection, the worse they got. It...pains...me to admit I did not heed his pleas at first, for I was absorbed in the building of Lindon and getting it running smoothly. It was no excuse to leave him to fend for himself like that, without a friend in sight.

"Elrond began to wake up in the morning to find the outside of his rooms vandalized. He would be working in the library when an ink pot would spill itself all over his robes, or even worse, his work. His meals stopped appearing, and, being so shy he feared to go to the kitchens, he often went without. He became afraid to walk in public for fear of being accosted. There is record of more than one time in the palace when an Elf who had been rejected cornered Elrond and said cruel and hurtful things to him."

Gil-galad drew in a shuddering breath, and Glorfindel felt sickened and honored, honored that Gil-galad would tell him this when it so obviously pained him.

"Then it went to the next level. There was a festival of some sorts, I can hardly remember what it was about, and many of us got roaring drunk. Most of us, as you are undoubtedly aware, merely get reckless and sing louder when we are drunk," said Gil-galad, allowing himself a small smile before his face fell into misery again. "Of course, there are a select few who brood and turn into darkness when they drink, and most Elves who do this know to avoid alcohol. If the Elf in question had known to do this, things may have happened quite differently that night. As it happened, Elrond decided to turn in early from the banquet, for he has never enjoyed large crowds, and was walking down the corridors when he found himself accosted by an incredibly drunk Elf, who, considering himself spurned by Elrond, took it upon himself to teach the little shit a lesson."

Gil-galad threw his wine glass across the garden, where it hit a tree and shattered into a million pieces, splattering wine all over the trunk. He grabbed the wine bottle, unscrewed the lid with his teeth, guzzled it, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards.

"He tried to force himself upon Elrond. His intention, even while inebriated, was never to rape Elrond, for that would be as good as death to him, half or no. He thought he could show Elrond what he was missing, so he forced Elrond to kiss him while he held him against the wall, his filthy drunken hands pawing at him, touching him, Elrond struggling all the while, until..."

Gil-galad's voice broke. Glorfindel looked away until the High King regained his composure and continued. "...until Elrond managed to break free, badly ripping his robes in the process. He fled to the library, the one place he knew comfort, and hid there.

"I found him. I had stayed up too late the night before and had a headache, so I decided to seek some quiet in the library. I found Elrond hiding in the corner, weeping, trying to cover himself up because his robes had been torn so badly. I'll admit it, Glorfindel, I have never felt sorrier for anyone than I did for him in that moment. Right then, I forgot about being King. I forgot about my duties. The only thought in my head was telling me to comfort him, to help him. Never before had someone been able to deflect my mind from the thoughts that plague me, worries that I shall fail my country. I fell in love, as surely as Beren fell in love with Lúthien in that glade. I have never fallen out of love."

"What did you do?" asked Glorfindel, speaking for the first time in a long while. "How did you help him?"

"I wrapped him in my cloak and discreetly helped him back to his rooms. I made him a cup of tea and I let him cry and I was there for him, a feat I cannot believe I managed even until this day. I still wonder what would have become of us if that despicable Elf had not done what he did, who, if you are wondering, faced a severe punishment for his actions. In the days after that I was always available if he needed someone to comfort him. I tried to be what he needed, and I never pushed him for anything more. I am proud to say," remarked Gil-galad, his face brightening in an expression of almost unbearable pride. "That I never, ever pressured him to go further, and I did it not knowing the full extent of his trauma, which he only revealed much later. I think this more than anything endeared Elrond to me.

"And...I needed him too. I was a mess. Círdan was the only one I was close to, and he was in the Havens. I needed something- or someone- to distract me from my duties, to give me another reason to get up in the morning, someone for me to love. Elrond was, and is, that for me."

Glorfindel met Gil-galad's eyes and saw wisdom and strength and compassion in them. He didn't know what to say; Gil-galad had just shared something incredibly private with him, and he could never manage to express his gratitude and empathy.

"Glorfindel," said Gil-galad, picking up a roll and smashing it in-between his fingers. "I told you all that so you'd understand us, understand why we love each other so deeply. We need you, Glorfindel. We don't know why yet, but we do. Not only that, but you've become a friend to me, and not one I want to lose because of bitterness."

"No," said Glorfindel hastily. "I would never...I don't...I...I understand. I get it. It's not...it's not deep and unquenchable love that I have, just persistent, Gil-galad. I'll work through it. It's my problem, and I refuse to give up my friendship with you, or for that matter, Elrond, for something as fickle as my heart."

"Do not denounce your heart, Yellow Flower," said Gil-galad. "You will need it before the end."

Second Age, January 7th, 1686. 10:57 P.M.

Glorfindel smiled, enjoying the cool breeze of the unseasonably warm weather. It was a festival day, which meant no work, whether military or government, lots of partying and lots of drunk Elves. Glorfindel had decided to take a short break from the party hall (not that he was in any way against partying) to take a walk and clear his mind. While this was a loud and raucous festival, it was, like all Eldar celebrations, easy to slip away for some peace and quiet.

Gil-galad had, some months ago, insisted that Glorfindel could use the royal gardens whenever he liked. He'd always felt too uncomfortable about that to actually venture there by himself, but he'd had a little to drink and decided, why not?

The royal gardens were spectacular, he thought as he ambled down the stone path. Soaring trees that created a canopy over low bushes teeming with bird life, chirping and chattering away. Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel thought he glimpsed a tree with fruit hanging off it. In January? He moved off the path to investigate, losing himself a little in the lush green landscape, trying to find this strange bus. Was it really fruit? Flowers, maybe? A trick of the imagination?

Glorfindel was about to give up and head back when he heard voices and froze.

Glorfindel crept closer to the voices and heard a soft, low laugh that was gut-wrenchingly familiar. He sidled into the shadow of a huge tree and pressed his face against the back, entranced by what he was seeing.

Elrond and Gil-galad were sitting on a bench set far back off the path. It was located directly in front of Glorfindel, and his chest was filled with an unidentifiable feeling as he took the scene in.

Elrond, who had shed his outer robes, was sitting between Gil-galad's legs and leaning against his chest as he read a book, his eyes flicking up to his lover every few seconds while Gil-galad, hair cascading around his shoulders, affection written plainly across his face, was busy unbraiding his love's hair, his calloused fingers fumbling with the small braids. Their clothes were both rumpled and disheveled, but there was no lust or sexual tension between the two as Gil-galad whispered something into Elrond's ear, causing Elrond to smile and lean over to Gil-galad to kiss him, a kiss that was long and slow and chaste and full of emotions that Glorfindel could barely fathom.

Glorfindel silently slipped away and headed back to the path. He looked through the canopy all the way to the stars, smiling as he spotted the Evening Star. It was if something had clicked inside him; his infatuation with Elrond, which had been steadily declining since his conversation with Gil-galad about Elrond's past, felt as though it had been completely turned off. Glorfindel decided to head back to the partying, hopes high, for if there could be love like that in the world, how could Sauron ever win?


	8. Part Two: Prologue

Second Age, May 12th, 1696. 6:40 P.M.

"The scouts are returning, my lord."

"Good," said Elrond, pausing in his clothes-washing to give his full attention to the messenger. "What have they reported?"

"They said they would rather speak directly to you," replied his messenger dutifully. 

He had been afraid of that; this meant serious news. He vehemently wrung out his undershirt before telling his messenger, "Bring them here."

"But, sir," objected the messenger. "You are washing!"

"Other generals do it," said Elrond calmly. "Why not me? Oh, and bring-"

"Lord Glorfindel, I know," replied the long-suffering Elf before scurrying off. 

Elrond sighed and returned to his washing, a process he enjoyed, as it gave him time to reflect on the day's march. All non-commissioned soldiers washed their own clothes and cooked their own food (which was given to them in rations), keeping a general sense of cleanliness about them even on the march, which, given their haste, had been long and exhausting. Most commissioned officers did the same, and Elrond had followed suit, deciding that, if he ended up alienating his soldiers somehow, it wouldn't be through a series of small, haughty gestures. He wanted to show them (them being everyone, his soldiers, himself, even Ereinion) that he wasn't just pretending at being a warrior or a soldier. 

It was a few short minutes before his messenger returned with three of the scouts, Glorfindel closely behind. 

"Tell me what you saw," said Elrond, finishing the shirt he was cleaning and wiping his hands dry. 

"We saw the army of Sauron," said the leader of the scouts flatly. "He is already engaged in battle, right at the borders of Eregion."

"Who's holding him off?" asked Elrond. "Celebrimbor?"

"Not as far as we can tell," answered another scout. 

"We think it may be Celeborn," added the third.

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged looks, and Elrond suddenly had to suppress the urge to laugh. "It looks like my own words have come back to bite me," he said. "Not that I mind."

"His army is small," continued the first scout. "But are fighting valiantly. Still, they will not be able to hold off the orcs much longer."

"How soon can we reach them?" asked Elrond. 

"Within a day's march," replied the scout.

"Then we shall ride to meet them," said Elrond decisively. "Ready the troops, and we will go as soon as possible. Scouts, alert all the captains. Glorfindel..."

"Yes?"

"Stay with me for a minute."

The scouts departed, and Glorfindel looked at Elrond with what Elrond was fairly certain was poorly disguised pity.

"You have done the best anyone could expect," said Glorfindel. "Better. You will b-"

"Battle is not about skill," said Elrond. "Not when you are in the thick of it. Even I know that. Let us be quiet for a moment, so we may steel ourselves and even pray to Elbereth that we may come out of this alive."

Glorfindel nodded. "Right now you seem to me a king of old," he murmured, and Elrond was grateful.

Second Age, May 13th, 1696. 4:20 P.M.

Battle was exactly what he expected it to be.

Battle was far worse than what he expected it to be.

It was terrifying to head an army, to be the first one to charge, to know you were the easiest target for an archer. And yet, he was not hit. Miracles or luck or the normal fare of battle, he did not know. He doubted he ever would. 

He had never seen an orc up close. He had never thought about it before, to be honest. He had heard such in-depth reports of orcs, had known about them since he was a child and Maedhros would cry against them in his sleep, he had even been on the outskirts of a battle where they were slain, that he had felt as though he knew everything there was to know. But he had never seen one up close. He had never smelled their stench or heard their footsteps or watched their eyes narrow in hatred as they mutated bodies lunged to kill you.

Not until he drove one through with his sword. 

He had always thought that when he killed for the first time, he would take the time to watch his victim die. 

He did not. He pulled his sword out and continued fighting. There was no time for acts of futility in battle. There was no time for weakness.

Soon, blood and smoke clogged his nostrils and blurred his vision, but to stop fighting was to die, and Elrond could not let himself do that.

When they battle ended, when the enemy was driven back, Elrond looked up at the and saw that it was past nightfall now. He glimpsed the Evening Star before returning his gaze to the battlefield and the aftermath he must now face.

Second Age, May 14th, 1696. 2:31 A.M.

"You came to our rescue," said Celeborn, granting Elrond a tired smile. "For that, I am forever thankful. We would never have survived without you."

"And thank you, for being able to hold them off for so long," replied Elrond, struggling to throw off the exhaustion that Celeborn must be feeling tenfold. "Still, we did not succeed. The orcs still surround Ost-in-Edhil."

"Celebrimbor will be able to hold them off," replied Celeborn evenly. "I have but a small portion of his army. He will hold the gates for as long as possible."

"And how long is that?" asked Elrond.

Celeborn did not answer.

"I am not asking you a rhetorical question," pressed Elrond. "How long is it? Give your best guess."

Celeborn sighed. "Against an army that size, Celebrimbor could hold out for a year, maybe more. It depends."

"Lord Elrond," said one of the generals quietly. "What do you command?"

Elrond took a deep breath and paused, thinking. It would not do to make rash decisions right now, so soon after battle.

"We will make a semi-permanent camp close enough to Ost-in-Edhil to come to its aid when the need arises. Until then we will protect as many surrounding village we can and gather our strength."

"We will not return to Lindon?"

"Do you think the High King would be pleased if I returned with naught but a false victory?"

"This is not about pride, Lord Elrond," said Celeborn angrily. "This is about keeping as many Elves as possible alive."

"I know what it is about," replied Elrond cooly, barely keeping his temper under check. "I did not mean to say that I cared for honor or glory, only that if we were return now we would have hardly put a stop to the Dark Lord's minion's reign of terror. The High King, as well as myself, could not live in the shadow of this failure. I have seen firsthand the horrors of war and the destruction it brings; I will stop at nothing to stop it."

There was a stunned silence.

Elrond looked down and smiled grimly. "Forgive me, Lord Celeborn. This has been a trying day. I have never fought in battle before, and it tries my endurance. I should take my leave of you now, to reconvene in the morning."

"No, Lord Elrond," said Celeborn. "It is you who should forgive me. I underestimated you."

"You're not the only one," was all Elrond said before heading off to a fitful sleep.


	9. Part Two: Chapter One

Second Age, March 27th, 1696. 12:30 P.M.

Elrond took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Underneath him, his horse stamped his foot and snorted. Elrond did not blame him; he had never seen so many Elves packed into one place before. First, there was the army, lined for rows and rows behind him. Elrond tried to forget how many Elves were behind him, how many thousands he was now responsible for, Elves forced to follow a leader who'd never seen battle before.

"Relax," said Glorfindel, sitting on the horse to his right. "I can see how much you're worrying. There's no need, at least not yet."

Glorfindel managed to look cheery decked out in full battle regalia, a feat Elrond could not fathom. Elrond was certain he looked absolutely ridiculous, his armor shiny and unused and his hair, too unruly that morning for warrior braids, falling loose around his shoulders. He glanced down and saw, in the half-inch of skin between his leather gloves and his armor, ink-stains. His eyes started threatening him with tears.

"I am not worthy," Elrond whispered. "It should be you, not me, sitting up here."

"In case it escaped your notice, I am sitting up here. Right next to you," replied Glorfindel promptly. "Come now, Elrond. You have been training for this for more than a decade. Anyway, today is all pomp and circumstance. The only thing you need watch out for are your eardrums."

Elrond managed a watery smile and stared straight ahead as the procession started to move.

Finally, after years of anxiety, of tense communications with Celebrimbor and Galadriel, of tentative battle plans and schemes, of useless fretting, the day had come. Elrond Half-elven, as the war minister and herald of High King Ereinion Gil-galad, was leading an army out to confront Sauron.

Elrond concentrated on his armor as the crowd began to cheer (Glorfindel was right, the cheering was harmful to the ears). It had been sent to him from Eregion, forged by Celebrimbor himself. Elrond had not received such a gift in a long time (Ereinion having questionable taste in fashion, design, jewelry, and almost anything one might give as a gift), and was rather proud of it. It was a beautiful piece of work, and Elrond secretly thought only Fëanor could have surpassed it.

Glorfindel whispered, "Look up, Elrond."

Elrond snapped his head up, hoping no one had paid attention to the herald of the High King's staring at his armor. He attempted a smile.

"Don't grimace like that," was Glorfindel's next bit of advice.

Elrond trained his eyes ahead of him as they marched down the streets of Lindon's capital and pretended that he was doing something pleasant, like reading or debating. His smile became a little more sincere, and he waved to the people watching the procession. A few Elf maidens threw flower petals at him, which he brushed out of his hair and gathered together in his hand. If he was still alive at the end of this war, he wouldn't mind pressing them.

Pressing flowers. It was thoughts like that that would end up getting him killed. Nevertheless, he tucked the flower petals in his saddlebag. Next to him, Glorfindel was fashioning them into a garland, his hair shining.

When they reached the end of the procession, Gil-galad and the lords and ladies of the court that weren't going to battle were waiting, all on horseback. Elrond swallowed. He and Ereinion had been preparing for this day for years, and they'd said farewell thoroughly and privately the previous night, but it was still hard to face.

As head of the army, Elrond rode out to meet Gil-galad, taking the banner from Glorfindel to do so. He felt his heart stutter as the crowd around them fell silent.

"My herald," said Gil-galad solemnly. "My war minister. I hereby give you command of this army, to exercise my will in all matters, and to bring fair justice and freedom upon the lands in defense of the Dark Lord Sauron. Do you accept?"

"I do, my liege," replied Elrond, afraid he would trip up on his words. "I will uphold your law in all matters and do my best to strike fear into the heart of our enemy. I accept."

Gil-galad nodded, his eyes meeting Elrond's for a split second. Elrond tried to memorize the stormy gray of their depths, but not only that; he had to commit to memory his lover's entire face, his full jaw-line and his cheekbones and his hair and his lips, lips Elrond had kissed practically every day of his life, lips Elrond might never see again. He could tell Ereinion was doing the same before he turned and his gaze was ripped away.

As protocol demanded, Elrond returned to his position in front of the army, his hand on the reins shaking. Was that it? What if he never returned? Was that the last he would ever see of Ereinion, until he was released from the Halls of Mandos?

Barely containing a sob, Elrond avoided Glorfindel's gaze as they continued their procession out of the city. Soon Gil-galad and Lindon would be behind him, and he would have only Sauron to look forward to.

They had gone only a few hundred yards when Elrond heard someone shout. He turned his head and saw, to both his embarrassment and joy, Gil-galad galloping towards him. The lords and ladies of the court were talking amongst themselves, while the crowd seemed generally confused, although no one seemed surprised.

Gil-galad slowed and pulled up next to Elrond, who was starting to blush. Really, in front of the army and everyone?

"I couldn't say goodbye to you like that," said Gil-galad, panting. "Not like that."

Elrond blushed further. "I am flattered, my liege," he replied, trying to keep some semblance of protocol.

"You look gorgeous in that armor," persisted Gil-galad. "Gorgeous and dangerous. You'll do wonderfully."

"You really think so?" Elrond whispered.

"I do," said Gil-galad, followed by, "Oh, bother it, I don't care anymore."

Gil-galad reached over with large, calloused hands, and pulled the love of his life in for a kiss.

When they parted, Elrond was red to his ears, but he was smiling.

"I love you," he said.

"I will see you again, my love," said Ereinion. "I will be here, waiting for you. Take comfort in that. Never forget that I hold you more dear than any other."

"And I you," said Elrond, this time initiating the kiss. "Farewell, my love."

"Until you return," said Gil-galad earnestly. They met eyes one last time before the High King of the Noldor returned to his place, his gaze trained on Elrond until he and all the army were nothing more than a speck in the distance.

"You will be all the talk of Lindon now," said Glorfindel once they were some distance from the city.

"I know," replied Elrond. "I just do not care."

"Really?" said Glorfindel, surprised. "You care so much about what they think..."

"My dear Glorfindel," said Elrond, surprising his friend. "It is not I that has to worry about it. It is my love who must deal with the court day in and day out. We are so delightfully free of all that. Remind me to thank Sauron."

Glorfindel laughed. "You have changed, but not for the worse."

"Let us hope if was enough," said Elrond. "Enough to bring down the evil we are facing."

"It will be," said Glorfindel. "It has to be."

Elrond nodded and lead his army forward.


	10. Part Two: Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond goes into battle for the first time.

Second Age, May 12th, 1696. 6:40 P.M.

"The scouts are returning, my lord."

"Good," said Elrond, pausing in his clothes-washing to give his full attention to the messenger. "What have they reported?"

"They said they would rather speak directly to you," replied his messenger dutifully.

He had been afraid of that; this meant serious news. He vehemently wrung out his undershirt before telling his messenger, "Bring them here."

"But, sir," objected the messenger. "You are washing!"

"Other generals do it," said Elrond calmly. "Why not me? Oh, and bring-"

"Lord Glorfindel, I know," replied the long-suffering Elf before scurrying off.

Elrond sighed and returned to his washing, a process he enjoyed, as it gave him time to reflect on the day's march. All non-commissioned soldiers washed their own clothes and cooked their own food (which was given to them in rations), keeping a general sense of cleanliness about them even on the march, which, given their haste, had been long and exhausting. Most commissioned officers did the same, and Elrond had followed suit, deciding that, if he ended up alienating his soldiers somehow, it wouldn't be through a series of small, haughty gestures. He wanted to show them (them being everyone, his soldiers, himself, even Ereinion) that he wasn't just pretending at being a warrior or a soldier.

It was a few short minutes before his messenger returned with three of the scouts, Glorfindel closely behind.

"Tell me what you saw," said Elrond, finishing the shirt he was cleaning and wiping his hands dry.

"We saw the army of Sauron," said the leader of the scouts flatly. "He is already engaged in battle, right at the borders of Eregion."

"Who's holding him off?" asked Elrond. "Celebrimbor?"

"Not as far as we can tell," answered another scout.

"We think it may be Celeborn," added the third.

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged looks, and Elrond suddenly had to suppress the urge to laugh. "It looks like my own words have come back to bite me," he said. "Not that I mind."

"His army is small," continued the first scout. "But are fighting valiantly. Still, they will not be able to hold off the orcs much longer."

"How soon can we reach them?" asked Elrond.

"Within a day's march," replied the scout.

"Then we shall ride to meet them," said Elrond decisively. "Ready the troops, and we will go as soon as possible. Scouts, alert all the captains. Glorfindel..."

"Yes?"

"Stay with me for a minute."

The scouts departed, and Glorfindel looked at Elrond with what Elrond was fairly certain was poorly disguised pity.

"You have done the best anyone could expect," said Glorfindel. "Better. You will b-"

"Battle is not about skill," said Elrond. "Not when you are in the thick of it. Even I know that. Let us be quiet for a moment, so we may steel ourselves and even pray to Elbereth that we may come out of this alive."

Glorfindel nodded. "Right now you seem to me a king of old," he murmured, and Elrond was grateful.

Second Age, May 13th, 1696. 4:20 P.M.

Battle was exactly what he expected it to be.

Battle was far worse than what he expected it to be.

It was terrifying to head an army, to be the first one to charge, to know you were the easiest target for an archer. And yet, he was not hit. Miracles or luck or the normal fare of battle, he did not know. He doubted he ever would.

He had never seen an orc up close. He had never thought about it before, to be honest. He had heard such in-depth reports of orcs, had known about them since he was a child and Maedhros would cry against them in his sleep, he had even been on the outskirts of a battle where they were slain, that he had felt as though he knew everything there was to know. But he had never seen one up close. He had never smelled their stench or heard their footsteps or watched their eyes narrow in hatred as they mutated bodies lunged to kill you.

Not until he drove one through with his sword.

He had always thought that when he killed for the first time, he would take the time to watch his victim die.

He did not. He pulled his sword out and continued fighting. There was no time for acts of futility in battle. There was no time for weakness.

Soon, blood and smoke clogged his nostrils and blurred his vision, but to stop fighting was to die, and Elrond could not let himself do that.

When they battle ended, when the enemy was driven back, Elrond looked up at the and saw that it was past nightfall now. He glimpsed the Evening Star before returning his gaze to the battlefield and the aftermath he must now face.

Second Age, May 14th, 1696. 2:31 A.M.

"You came to our rescue," said Celeborn, granting Elrond a tired smile. "For that, I am forever thankful. We would never have survived without you."

"And thank you, for being able to hold them off for so long," replied Elrond, struggling to throw off the exhaustion that Celeborn must be feeling tenfold. "Still, we did not succeed. The orcs still surround Eregion, and they will not easily give up."

"Celebrimbor will be able to hold them off," replied Celeborn evenly. "I have but a small portion of his army. He will hold the gates for as long as possible."

"And how long is that?" asked Elrond.

Celeborn did not answer.

"I am not asking you a rhetorical question," pressed Elrond. "How long is it? Give your best guess."

Celeborn sighed. "Against an army that size, Celebrimbor could hold out for a year, maybe more. It depends."

"We cannot take them," said one of Celeborn's advisors bitterly. "There is no way, not with the losses we sustained today. Sweet Elbereth, I doubt an army twice our size could take them."

"Lord Elrond," said one of the generals quietly. "What do you command?"

Elrond took a deep breath and paused, thinking. It would not do to make rash decisions right now, so soon after battle.

"We will make a semi-permanent camp close enough to Eregion to come to its aid when the need arises. Until then we will protect as many surrounding villages we can and gather our strength. Any Elves that come to us for refuge will be taen in, and, if possible, trained to fight."

"We will not return to Lindon?"

"Do you think the High King would be pleased if I returned with naught but a false victory?"

"This is not about pride, Lord Elrond," said Celeborn angrily. "This is about keeping as many Elves as possible alive."

"I know what it is about," replied Elrond cooly, barely keeping his temper under check. "I did not mean to say that I cared for honor or glory, only that if we were return now we would have hardly put a stop to the Dark Lord's minion's reign of terror. The High King, as well as myself, could not live in the shadow of this failure. I have seen firsthand the horrors of war and the destruction it brings; I will stop at nothing to stop it."

There was a stunned silence.

Elrond looked down and smiled grimly. "Forgive me, Lord Celeborn. This has been a trying day. I have never fought in battle before, and it tries my endurance. I should take my leave of you now, to reconvene in the morning."

"No, Lord Elrond," said Celeborn. "It is you who should forgive me. I underestimated you."

"You're not the only one," was all Elrond said before heading off to a fitful sleep.


	11. Part Two: Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond fights in battle again, and sees a banner he never wanted to.

Second Age, May 20th, 1698. 2:10 P.M.

"We have no force to withstand them."

"I know, Glorfindel. The council has been telling me this for the past two weeks," replied Elrond. "But here we are, staring a marching army in the face. We cannot run; they will only come after us."

"There are thousands upon thousands of them, and we have only a small number of that."

"Again, I know," said Elrond, his eyes trained on the black smudge in the distance that marked their doom. He horse whinnied beneath him, and he patted it absent-mindedly with a worn glove.

"Just making sure," said Glorfindel, smiling tightly. "You are right, of course. We have no options here."

"Ereinion will be beside himself with grief," said Elrond softly. "But it will only cause him to lead his armies all the better."

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel after he said this, but the blonde warrior's eyes were focused on the approaching orc army. They spent the next hour or so in silence, the archers waiting for Elrond to give the word, the cavalry, now only a hundred or so, sitting restlessly behind Elrond. Behind the cavalry were the foot-soldiers in all their bedraggled glory, exhausted and tired of war. Elrond could not give them the rest they so sorely needed; instead they faced their death in a hopeless battle.

"What is that?" asked Elrond suddenly. "What is on that banner?"

"I don't know," said Glorfindel, squinting. "You must have better eyes than me."

Elrond's heart dropped like a stone as the banner came closer with every step.

"No," he whispered. "It...it cannot be."

"What?" asked Glorfindel, alarmed.

Behind them, sharper-eyed Elves were murmuring to each other, trying to figure out what they were looking at.

Elrond's mouth was dry, and he was finding it difficult to swallow.

"It's a body," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion, his mind reeling. "It's an Elf."

"Elrond," said Glorfindel. "Do you think it's..."

Elrond did not reply.

Celebrimbor. His Celebrimbor. His last family, his cousin in heart if not in blood. Over a thousand years of love and trust and each of them coming to terms and confiding in each other over their ravaged, ruined families.

Dead. Not only dead, but broken.

The army just kept marching. The orcs just kept coming, and although Elrond could not yet see the malice in the eyes of the Enemy's herald, he could feel it.

Celebrimbor's body eventually was fully visible, limbs twisted at unnatural angles and blood staining the batter body. He was held onto the banner by means of several ugly black arrows piercing his body. Elrond hated to see the huge, gaping holes they had caused and the dried blood still on the corpse.

Maybe it was because he was already thinking of his past, or because of the obvious pain Celebrimbor had been through, an image of Maedhros, proud, scarred Maedhros flashed through his mind. Terrible to behold in battle, orcs running in fear of his face, the pain of his torment ever visible if you dared to meet his eyes. Maedhros, who had eternally stood watch so Maglor could raise the twins.

Maedhros and Celebrimbor, Elrond's two tragic heroes. He didn't want any more heroes. He wanted his loved ones to stay alive and safe and where he could reach them.

"Glorfindel," Elrond said. "Don't you die on me."

"I do not see a Balrog, my lord," said Glorfindel. To others it would have seemed a joke, but Elrond knew him better.

Glorfindel did not joke about Gondolin.

"I will dry my eyes after this battle," said Elrond. "And I will need to. But now, we fight."

"I take it you, too, do not intend to die?"

"No," said Elrond. "Not now and not ever."

Sauron was ill-prepared for the assault he met when he unfurled his new banner; he had expected it to create dissension in Elrond's ranks, to cause hesitation. He did not expect Elrond to lead his army with an inner fury that had not been seen since the red whirlwind had left Himring. There was no fear in the eyes of the herald who charged him that day.

Second Age, May 20th, 1698. 5:40 P.M.

"My lord!"

Elrond wrenched his sword out of the carcass of an orc and looked up, breathing heavily. He had lost his horse sometime earlier; yet another loss to mourn.

"You are not one of mine," said Elrond. "Unless you are very new. Who are you?"

"I have been sent to inform you that Amroth of Lórinand has come to your aid," said the messenger, ducking to avoid the swing of a sword. "Merely by coincidence, it seems, but for the good of all. However, I have been sent ahead; Amroth and our men are on the other side of the battle.

"Good," said Elrond. "We may be able to retreat soon then."

"My lord?"

"My men cannot win this battle," said Elrond pausing to kill an orc directly behind the messenger. "If there is a chance we can escape, we will not take it. Even in my rage I will not send my soldiers to senseless deaths. Will you be able to hold them without us?"

The messenger, surprised, hesitated. "I am no strategist, but our forces are large. We can likely hold them off."

Elrond sigh, relieved. "Tell Amroth that I readily accept his help, of course, and by the chance that we do not meet during or after the battle, thank him profusely for me. Now go, before you get yourself killed."

"Yes, my lord."

Second Age, May 20th, 1698. 7:12 P.M.

The were Dwarves in this battle. Elrond could not say when they got there, only that they were there, and they were fighting the orcs. He shouted his thanks and extreme gratitude to one bearing a runner's crest and hoped it got to Durin, as his next course of action was to order a retreat.

"Elrond!"

"Glorfindel!"

"I am glad to see you kept your promise!"

"And you!" called Elrond, riding on a horse he'd found escaping from the battle. He'd always had a way with horses.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Run!"

As Elrond galloped away from the battle, he let the rushing wind take care of his tears. There was still no time to mourn.

Second Age, May 21st, 1698. 11:49 A.M.

"They are still following us."

"Of course they are," said Elrond. "But not all of them. Amroth and Durin's Dwarves came at exactly the right time."

"They did indeed."

Elrond and his council were talking and walking at the same time; Glorfindel was out collecting the Elves who had scattered in their escape from the battle. Judging from the Elves that streamed around them, they still had most of their forces, although they were being forced north, away from Lindon.

"We cannot run forever," said a council member.

"We will run as long as we have to," replied Elrond shortly. "I have said this already."

"But-"

"It is either run or die," said Elrond. "Which would you rather do?"

Second Age, May 22nd, 1698. 3:12 P.M.

"Lord Elrond!"

Elrond had managed to gather most of his forces in the night, although they were still in disarray, their energy vastly depleted. They were still able to keep ahead of the orc detachment that followed them, although Elrond wondered for how long.

"Yes?"

"We have found a valley," said the scout breathlessly. "It goes deep, and there is but one way in that we can see. One of the scouts nearly slid into the entrance, it was so hard to find. There are no conventional paths in, and, if you so wish, we should be able to get everyone in and block the entrance before the orcs find us."

Elrond's heart leaped. This sounded like exactly what they needed; but was it really? "What about food and water?" he asked. "Is there any game?"

"There are forests that must be full of game," said the scout, and Elrond could see the longing in his eyes. "And the waterfalls...I do not think that this place has been touched by any sentient creature before now."

"It is a shame that we must do so," said Elrond. "Please, show me this paradise."

And a paradise it was. The scouts were right; the entrance was hidden. Elrond thought that they would only be able to get two or three Elves side-by-side, and he worried that this valley might not be big enough. The tunnel, which was rock and would be difficult to destroy, even by an entire orc army, went on for a fair bit before it opened up into the valley.

Elrond sucked in a deep breath. "Perfect," he said. "This is perfect."

Glorfindel, who, of course, had come with Elrond to view the valley, smiled. "You think so too?"

Elrond cast his gaze at the deep valley, thick, green trees blanketing the ground, waterfalls creating an almost constant hum of natural beauty. Elrond could scarcely take his eyes off it.

"Valley of the cleft," he murmured. "Imladris."


	12. Part Two: Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond begins to settle in Rivendell while a war rages.

Second Age, May 23rd, 1697. 11:03 A.M.

"This place is amazing," murmured Elrond, running his fingers along the bark of a tree, its leaves already completely green despite the earliness of the season. "Untouched by the Enemy's malice, despite everything."

"You sound ready to wax poetic about this place," said Glorfindel, his back against a tree as he watched Elrond marvel.

"I have always been a scholar in heart," said Elrond, sighing. "And I do love it, Glorfindel, even under the circumstances by which we came here."

"It is a wonderful place," said Glorfindel. "Although I maintain that Lindon compares. You must be too used to its beauty."

Elrond laughed. "Too caught up in my duties, more like. Ironic, I suppose, that it is here that I find repose."

"Maybe," suggested Glorfindel, a sly smile on his face. "You are too preoccupied with a particular beauty of Lindon's to pay your surroundings much attention."

Elrond almost made a face at Glorfindel but remembered himself just in time. "I am afraid we must cut our fun short, as we have troops to oversee and strategies to plan."

Their situation, in truth, was more difficult than their peaceful surroundings would suggest. Elrond had spent the past two days sending his troops down to the valley, along with the many Eregion refugees that had escaped. They'd blocked up the entrance, only removing it to send out scouts, who reported that the orcs were camped half a mile away, looking for them. Elrond was sure the orcs would find them soon, and then they'd be at a stalemate, for there was no way the orcs could penetrate Imladris's (as Elrond had taken to calling it) natural defenses, for they had not found another way in.

But they still had need for worry; Elrond did not know how long this valley could sustain them, nor how long Sauron was willing to wait. He was thinking about the possibility of building a larger entrance, although keeping it invisible to orcs would be a problem. They couldn't fight from their current one, as the narrow entrance only allowed for two warriors to exit at once.

They returned to their hastily set-up camp, where Elrond's troops were busy trying to get everything in order while the refugees were coping with the loss of their homes and, in most cases, their families.

They passed a group of orphaned children and their last remaining guardian.

"Elrond," said Glorfindel as they approached. "These children are the last of the Eregion court. You might want to talk to their caretaker."

The nursemaid was exhausted; Elrond could see it in her eyes. He wished they had the time to rest so many of these people needed. Even Glorfindel was beginning to look haggard.

After the perfunctory greetings, Elrond launched into the questions. He no longer had time for tact or charm, for he still had much to attend to and never enough time to do it.  
"How did you escape Eregion?"

The nursemaid had steeled herself for this and answered the question without flinching. "Lord Celebrimbor had a secret entrance to the palace built not long ago, after the Deceiver left our lands. He sent us and the children through it when the gates were breached, hoping we would find safety in your troops, for we have heard that you have many of our people in your ranks now."

"I do," said Elrond. "Not for the purpose of fighting, but for rebuilding, when this war is over."

She smiled slightly. "You sound like Lord Celebrimbor. I like that. I will miss him much in the coming days."

He sighed. "You are not the only one. What did you do once you were out of the city?"

"We ran," she said, shuddering. "We ran from the orcs, and all but myself died fighting them. Because of their bravery, I stand here with all the children that I started with. Even more, for we ran into other orphans on the way and I could not refuse them."

One of the less shy children took this as his cue to run up to Elrond and pull on his cloak, giggling when Elrond smiled. He ran back to hide behind his guardian, who laughed. "This is one of those children," she said. "We found him in the burning streets as we left, his parents lying dead around him. It was awful."

Glorfindel, who had been nodding and smiling and generally being his pleasant self, was suddenly gone from his side.

"What is his name?" asked Elrond.

"Tell him," pressed the nursemaid, pulling the out in front of her. "Tell him your name, love."

"Lindir," said the boy.

"Hello, Lindir," said Elrond, bending to meet Lindir's eyes. "I'm Lord Elrond. You can call me Elrond, thought, just don't tell the council. They don't stand for that, do they?"

Lindir shook his head and pulled at one of Elrond's warrior braids. "Pretty."

"No," said Elrond. "Not pretty, but necessary. Hopefully you'll understand someday."

Lindir nodded seriously before running back to his friends.

He stood up to see the nursemaid smiling. "He is a pleasant child, but not usually to strangers," she said. "Have you ever thought about becoming a father, Lord Elrond?"  
Elrond laughed awkwardly. "I don't see that happening anytime soon."

She raised her eyebrows; apparently Lindon's gossip did not reach as far as Eregion, or perhaps she simply did not care.

"I'm in an relationship that, uh, does not allow for children," said Elrond, blushing. Again, Glorfindel's disappearance disturbed him; usually he would be chortling behind Elrond right then. "If you understand my meaning."

"Ah," she said, grinning. "I see. My sister is in one of those relationships; they are hopefully safe, waiting for a ship at the Havens. However, Lord Elrond, I do think that you would be a good father."

He smiled, troubled. He had never thought about it before, not in depth, but the idea wasn't as horrible as he'd always told himself. He supposed he'd just never dwelt on it, as he knew it would never happen.

"I must take my leave," he said. "It is time-consuming, this leading an army thing."

"Wait," she said suddenly, her voice serious. "I have a message for you."

"You do?" asked Elrond. "Why wait until now?"

She looked down. "Because it will grieve you to hear, I think, although it may bring you some peace. It is from Lord Celebrimbor."

Elrond's chest constricted and he found it difficult to speak. He nodded.

"Before I left, he said that if I saw you, to tell you...thank you. Thank you for the family you have been to him for many long years, for you understand him more than any other could. He said..."

She broke off, her voice thick with tears. "He said...he loves you, and you have been a brother to him. He is sorry he has to leave you alone again, and that, when you can, you must find comfort in the one you love most. Until then, please, fight on to remedy the mistakes that he made. He said goodbye."

"Thank you," he said to her, turning away so he could wipe his face. "May Elbereth bless you for what you have given me."

Second Age, May 23rd, 12:13 P.M.

"There you are."

Elrond held his cloak out of the way as he sat, wishing he didn't need to stay in his armor all day, every day. It wasn't so much in case of attack, just that Elrond liked his men to see that he was always prepared and ready in case something did happen. His armor felt loud and heavy; he missed his scholar's robes, which hung on him like a second skin.

Glorfindel glanced over at him. "Don't you have duties to attend to?"

"Yes," said Elrond. "My duties as a friend. What happened back there? Why did you go?"

Glorfindel looked back down at his hands, gloved in thick, worn leather. "Those children...all of this...it brings me back to the fall of Gondolin. hen that woman spoke of the burning streets, I could see my friends fall in my mind's eye. Time passes differently in the Hall of Mandos. To me, it does not seem that long ago, and I feel that no matter how long it has been, I will never forget the horror of it."

"I am sorry, Glorfindel," said Elrond, who, for all his posturing as a good friend, had few, and knew not what to do.

Glorfindel met his eyes, and there was anguish in them. "I thought we would be able to stop them, Elrond. Stop them before they destroyed Eregion. I thought my purpose in Middle-earth was the save Celebrimbor and his people and stop Sauron, but I had not been useful. It would have been better had I never come."

"You cannot believe that," said Elrond, his heart, already full with sorrow at Celebrimbor's message, cracking. "You can't. Without you, I would never have made it this far. It is my own failures that stopped Eregion from being saved. It is my fault Celebrimbor is dead."

"Not true," argued Glorfindel. "That is not true. We got here as soon as we could."

"I should have attacked Eregion," said Elrond, his voice cracking. "I should have found a way to beat the orcs, we did nothing for so long..."

"We could not have taken on a force of that size, Elrond," said Glorfindel reasonably, his natural talent for comforting shining through his pain. "We only escaped with the help of Amroth and the Dwarves."

Elrond laughed bitterly. "You blame yourself, but not me? It is I who led you into battle; maybe it is my fault you have not fulfilled your purpose."

"No," said Glorfindel softly. "It is not. I am only moping, I am sure it will come. Elrond..."

"Yes?"

"There was a time, back in Lindon, when I thought I loved you. I never told you, for I feared for what it would do to our friendship."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"Because I think you deserve to know," said Glorfindel. "You are a fine leader, Elrond, and I am proud to serve by your side."

Glorfindel stood then, clapping Elrond on the shoulder. "Come, my lord. We don't have time to mope."

"You are right," said Elrond, who felt as though his emotions had been through a wringer. "We do. And, please, Glorfindel..."

"Yes?"

"Believe me when I tell you that I couldn't do this without you."

"Oh, Lord Elrond. The same holds for you."


	13. Part Two: Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Glorfindel manage to keep their cheer up in public, while Elrond is secretly plagued by doubts.

**Second Age, August 2nd, 1698. 4:54 P.M.**

"The orcs are trying to get in again."

Elrond ran his hand over his face in annoyance. "Do they not know they are inconveniencing us? We are right in the middle of building new latrines."

"Maybe we could fill up the old ones with their bodies," suggested Glorfindel. "Two birds with one stone."

Elrond considered it.

"No," he decided. "They would make the smell worse, if possible."

"I see your point," said Glorfindel.

Enough of flippancy now, Elrond thought. Even though the orcs were making their thirtieth or so attempt to make or find a passage into Imladris, Elrond knew he should not take it lightly. He ordered a group of archers off to the cliffs to pick the orcs down, and doubled the security around the entrance.

Elrond was currently overseeing the building of, not the latrines, but the hall they were putting up. The few buildings they had were hastily constructed, and while the ones they were building now were only a small improvement, Elrond wanted to build enough of them so that when winter came, he would be able to get soldiers and refugees alike indoors and warm.

When Elrond was done at the hall, he went to see how the archers were doing. They had taken nearly all the attacking orcs down, with only two injuries and no fatalities, much to Elrond's relief. Staring at the high cliffs, an idea sparked in his mind. He thought about it, wondering if he was mad or if this could really work. It could be very stupid, Elrond thought suddenly. What if it was very stupid?

He decided to tell Glorfindel and ask what he thought; if it was stupid, Glorfindel would tell him and, best of all, not judge him for it.

When Elrond approached Glorfindel, he started the conversation with, "This could be very stupid."

"A lot of things could be very stupid," replied Glorfindel. "Like this conversation, for instance."

"Looking at it that way,  _every_  conversation could be very stupid."

"But you see, my dear Elrond," said Glorfindel, wagging his finger. "I  _do_ look at it that way."

Elrond laughed, but quickly sobered up as he thought about the amount of work he had to attend to before the day was over.

"I was thinking of widening the main entrance to Imladris,"" said Elrond. "Making it look and sounds as thought all were normal, maybe with a noisy distraction somewhere else, but secretly removing all by the first few layers of dirt so that, when we need it, we can take it down at short notice and get a battalion through there without too much trouble."

"A battalion, huh?" said Glorfindel, golden eyebrow raised. "Sounds like a big effort. Do you really think we'll be down here that long?"

"Yes," said Elrond confidently. "This valley's food supply can't hold out forever, not with so many thousands surviving off it. We're already beginning to struggle."

"I hadn't noticed," said Glorfindel, worried. "Is it really?"

"Not much, but we're catching less game now, and that is an ill omen. If we had access to the hunting grounds beyond the Valley, I'm sure we would be fine, but as it is..."

"It's worth the risk," said Glorfindel. "I would rather not be trapped down here to starve. Would you like me to muster some soldiers to begin?"

"Yes, I would," said Elrond. "Try to pick soldiers who aren't involved in too many building projects already, I don't want to wear anyone out. Oh, and get warriors with a reputation for stealth. We need to be as quiet about this as possible. I want to keep this a secret from the orcs."

"Glad you're not too picky then."

"I hope it's enough," said Elrond absentmindedly. "I do not want to fail these people, not again."

* * *

**Second Age, October 5th, 1698. 7:12 A.M.**

Ignoring his empty stomach, Elrond took a walk in the woods behind his tent, one of the last left after their continued buildings. He could have eaten if he'd wanted to, but the thought of his soldiers and the hard work they did to deserve their food put him off. He did not want to be wasteful, not with the game so rapidly thinning out and rations being cut.

He stopped at a stream, glad there were so many waterfalls; they would never run out of fresh water, at least. He sat on its bank and peered into it, wondering if there were any fish sizable enough to eat.

He found his reflection instead. It took a moment for Elrond to recognize himself; he had not seen a mirror since the road to Eregion, where his broke. His hair, instead of straightened and braided like back in Lindon, was wavy and tangled, the few warrior braids he kept nearly lost in its mass. His skin was tanned dark by the outdoors and his lips were cracked. His eyes, the same gray they had been all his life, seemed wilder.

Is this what heading an army did to Elrond? Was he so incompetent that he could not even lead without looking like a wild-man? He wondered what Ereinion would say, the one who had told him that beauty didn't matter all those years ago. Elrond had not believed him at first, sure it was just another trick to win Elrond's heart, but after months,  _years_ , of Ereinion's devotion, of his soft caresses and loving company, Elrond had given it of his own accord.

What would he say if he saw Elrond now? If Elrond was feeling untruthful, if he were prone to long pouts of self-pity, he would guess that Ereinion would be shocked by his appearance, the loss of his perfect hair and skin and kissable lips, the ones Ereinion had, despite his claim that he didn't love Elrond for his face, lauded. He would say that Ereinion would be repulsed, that he tell him to clean up his act before they could be together again.

But no, Elrond knew, he wouldn't do that. That wasn't his Ereinion. Ereinion would see him and his face would split into that big grin of his, and he would kiss Elrond hard enough to make Elrond want to melt in his arms. And then he would tell Elrond that beauty didn't matter, or more likely, that he hadn't changed a bit.

Elrond began to cry. Ereinion was so far away, and he might never see him again.


	14. Part Two: Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Glorfindel have a misunderstanding.

**Second Age, December 20th, 1698. 12:31 P.M.**

Elrond was supervising the handing out of rations to the refugees, making sure none were getting short-handed, when he was approached by a man.

"My Lord?" asked them man, his voice rasping, his eyes revealing the pain hidden by his unmarred features. "I am sorry to approach you like this, so directly, but I a am a father of four, my Lord, and the rations do not feed us all properly...please do not think I am ungrateful, that is not the case! Only that my children are hungry, and I wondered if you could possibly help..."

Elrond knew he should, in fairness, turn the man away, but he did not have the heart for it. Turning around, he procured a pack of rations for the man and sent him on his was, smiling wanly at his profuse thanks.

"Elrond," said a voice, seemingly out of nowhere, form his side. "You cannot do that. You of all people know how thin the supplies are."

"Do not worry, Glorfindel," said Elrond tensely. "I gave him my own rations for the day. It would have been eaten regardless."

Glorfindel threw up his hands in annoyance. "You test my patience, Elrond! Do you think I haven't noticed that you hardly eat anymore? You will starve at this rate."

"I cannot believe you complain about my  _not_  eating, when we have so little food," said Elrond. "These refugees never asked to be trapped in this valley. If they must suffer for my mistakes, I will do my best to at least make sure they are fed."

"You seem to believe every military maneuver you make is a mistake! One of these days you are going to have to realize you are a perfectly capable commander and you make the same choices anyone would."

"So you say."

"As I've been saying for months! As for your starving yourself, it will do no one any good! If there were a battle tomorrow, you would be too weak to survive it, even if you weren't the biggest target in it. Listen to reason, Elrond."

"Why did you come here, Glorfindel?" asked Elrond, wishing Glorfindel would lower his voice. People were beginning to stare.

"I came to tell you that we have dug out the path almost to the entrance. Only a few feet, and we'll have an entrance that can fit, as you once said, an entire battalion through it."

"Good," said Elrond. "It is nice to have pleasant news for a change."

Glorfindel huffed in frustration. "You must get that stubbornness from the human side, huh? No Elf would be as thickheaded to refuse to eat."

Elrond's chest contracted in pain and hurt. He stared at Glorfindel in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

Glorfindel grinned at him, thinking their argument was over. "That only a barbarian human could be so thick."

"Ah," said Elrond, resisting the urge to clamp a hand over his chest. "That's what I thought."

He turned away form Glorfindel.

* * *

**Second Age, December 25th, 1697. 8:38 P.M.**

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Now is not the time."

"Then when's the time, Elrond? When will you look me in the eye and tell me what I did to deserve your anger?"

Elrond looked up from the firewood he was chopping to see Glorfindel's face twisted in anguish and felt a stab of pity. He had not meant to be so cruel to Glorfindel, except, whenever he had thought about approaching his friend, his mind returned unbidden to their last conversation, and something stopped him.

"I am sorry," said Elrond. "I did not mean to cause you pain."

"You didn't tell me why you're avoiding me."

"A thousand years, Glorfindel," said Elrond quietly. "Over a thousand years, and still my early days haunt me. I do not speak of the Fëanorians, but of Lindon, and my first days there."

Glorfindel stilled, and Elrond knew what he was thinking of. Ereinion had told Elrond that he'd revealed Elrond's past to him, although he hadn't said why, only that it had been necessary.

"I was mocked for my heritage. I was ridiculed for my unruly hair and my face and the human blood that flows through my veins. Through Ereinion and my fellows scholars, I was able to put that behind me, or so I thought. When we argued, about my own ineptitude and my eating habits, I was fine, I could hold my own. But you called me thickheaded and claimed it came from my human ancestors. You called them barbarians. I am not ashamed of them, Glorfindel. They were as noble and brave as Eldar are. Still, I..."

Elrond cast his eyes back to his firewood, embarrassed. "I am too sensitive. It is the dead of winter, we are surrounded by an orcish contingent, and we are rapidly running out of food. We do not have time for this."

"The orcs are not going anywhere, Elrond. Neither are we," said Glorfindel softly, approaching Elrond to lay a hand on is shoulder. "I am sorry. I should have known better than to so meanly antagonize you. I meant it in jest, I swear. I have not known many humans, living in Gondolin so long. I was wrong."

"I forgive you," said Elrond. "Just know that it hurt, coming from a friend. Can you forgive me for acting so irrationally?"

"It does not seem irrational in hindsight," replied Glorfindel. "But I will forgive you only if you promise me that you will eat more. We cannot have our fearless leader starving."

"Fearless leader, hm?" said Elrond, beginning to smile.

"That is what you look like to them," said Glorfindel. "Whether good or bad, brooding, stoic leaders look fearless."

"I am not stoic!" laughed Elrond. "I am merely quiet."

"Quiet looks like stoic to an outsider," said Glorfindel. "That is why you need to eat. It is hard to look stoic when one's stomach is growling."

"I promise I will eat more," said Elrond, sighing. "You really know how to turn a conversation around, don't you?"

"It's my speciality," said Glorfindel cheerily. "Would you like some help with that firewood?"

"Yes, please," said Elrond. "I doubt I will ever truly be suited to physical labor."

"Whine, whine, whine, is that all you do?"

"I could use some wine right now."

When Glorfindel's responding laugh came, Elrond felt that, while everything was by far not right with the world, he could, for a moment, pretend it was.


	15. Part Two: Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond finds himself a part of a group, even as rations grow shorter.

**Second Age, February 13th, 1699. 2:19 P.M.**

"...And then the mortal actually  _saw_  me hiding in the tree, I swear! I've never thought they had keen eyesight until that moment. He chased me down and yelled at me to never bother his daughter again, even though I was really just chasing that damn horse...Moral of the story, never underestimate mortals."

The end of the story was met with chuckles all around, including Elrond, who was changing out of his training clothes at the end of one of the hastily-built wooden sheds they used to refresh themselves in after the daily training exercises. He was turned slightly away from them, feeling as awkward around the burly soldiers as ever. He knew that if they'd been in Lindon and he was not their commander, they would have either ignored or sneered at him. In the past few years that had changed, but still...now they were forced to respect him, and Elrond worried that they resented him.

Elrond rarely trained without Glorfindel, and without him, he felt exposed. The soldiers often told stories to distract themselves from short rations, the bitter cold, and their tight situation, but Elrond was never comfortable enough to join.

"Once," began another soldier. "My love and I were bathing in the river, you know, in the  _bare_ , and, lo and behold! Our entire regiment showed up do their laundry! We had to hide behind some bushes for ours. Our skin was wrinkled for ages!"

"You call that a story?" snorted Elrond before he could stop himself. Everyone fell silent and stared at him as he froze, fingers halfway trough unbuckling his belt. He blushed and wished he could disappear into the earth. His problems of starving and being killed by orcs weren't enough, no, he had to have eternal embarrassment added to the mix.

"You got something better, my lord?" asked one of the soldiers, learning on the wall and seemingly oblivious to his near naked state.

Elrond seemed to have lost the ability to speak, so he just shrugged. The soldier raised his eyebrows.

"You can't just deliver a challenge like that and not deliver," said another soldier. He was smiling, and Elrond was hoping it wasn't in derision.

"I have stories," said Elrond finally. "I'm just afraid-"

"They'll offend our delicate sensibilities?" said the first soldier, grinning. "If you're worried about them being about another male, trust me, we've heard them before."

Someone laughed. "Remember that time Narië got himself-"

"Shhhh," someone hissed, and Elrond blushed even deeper.

He managed to keep his face calm as he said, "I'm not sure I should divulge my stories, seeing as they all involve our High King."

There were grins all around at this statement; Elrond failed to see what was funny.

"From what we know of him, I doubt he'd mind," said the naked soldier, still leaning against the wall. Elrond wondered if he was getting splinters from the uneven wood. "Besides, you're one of us, aren't you? It's only right."

Suddenly warm for a different reason, Elrond found himself smiling too. "You're right, I doubt Erienion would mind."

"So?" prompted someone.

Elrond continued divesting himself of his training clothes as he said, "Once, on a trip to the country, our High King decided it would be a fantastic idea to drag me along on an ill-planned trip to some natural hot springs. Of course, being him, he hadn't thoroughly checked to make sure we were at the right ones, and..."

Elrond continued and, at the end of the story, when everyone was laughing, found himself laughing right along with them.

* * *

**Second Age, June 2nd, 1699. 6:12 A.M.**

It was no surprise to Elrond when the squire that woke him that morning informed him, with a drawn face and tight frown, that the last of their rations had been exhausted and no new game had been brought in.

Elrond took a deep breath, hating that he had to issue this order.

"Begin on the horses, then," he said, seeing his disgust mirrored in the squire's eyes.

They had to eat. He could not risk his soldiers', let alone civilian, lives just because they all had sentimental attachments to their horses. They only live thirty or so years, he kept telling himself. They die in a flash of an eye to the Eldar. There was no game being brought in, even though the weather was improving. He couldn't let people starve.

But that didn't change the bond every cavalry soldier had with his horse after they fought and survived battles with each other. Elrond knew that when he issued the order, every Elf whose horse was first chosen was doing the same.

Including Elrond. He went out to the stables, one of the first buildings made, and said goodbye to his horse.

She was very quiet when he took her out of the stables for the last time, his actions mirrored by a dozen gaunt soldiers around him, soldiers who could not find it within themselves to meet his eyes, not today. He didn't blame them.

He stroked her mane, feeling terrible. The camp would be quiet today, and the next day, and the day after that. Unless, of course, thought Elrond guiltily, for the screams of horses.

That thought broke something inside him, and he pulled his horse to him as he began to cry into her mane.

Was he just prolonging their deaths? The river to their back was leagues out of the orcs way, plus protected from large armies through natural defenses, but surely they would attempt something eventually. He was just lengthening their misery. A real commander surely have ridden his troops into battle by now, instead of foraging pointlessly for food. A real commander would be brave, and strong, and not an out-of-place scholar pushed into battle by misplaced love.

But they didn't have a real commander. They had him, and Elrond was going to give it the best he had.

* * *

**Second Age, August 27th, 1699. 8:42 P.M.**

The horse meat was almost gone. Elrond had known it couldn't last forever, but for all his supposed wisdom he hadn't been able to figure out what they were going to do next. Neither could any of his council. Instead they were sitting ducks starving right into the hands of their enemies.

Many of his councillors were advising him to attack, but the hidden entrance had been made to defend the valley, and it was not optimal for an offensive attack. If it was lost, the orcs would be able to stream in and slaughter the civilians that continued to place all their trust in him.

Glorfindel advised him to wait. The Valar will see us, said Glorfindel, but Elrond didn't trust the Valar. They had been content to sit idly by during the First Age, only rousing from their centuries long pledge of apathy when his father had arrived on their shores. He could not forget the songs Maglor would sing to him and his brother as a child, songs of grief about their defeat at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Where were the Valar then? If the Valar were really going to step in, wasn't it more likely to be when Gil-galad himself was fighting with all the forces of Lindon, not some lowly battle like his?

No, Elrond knew, it was up to them to carve their own victory, and he could not see a way for them to do it.

Elrond was distracted form his thoughts by a sudden stampeding of feet outside his tent door, noticing shouts in the distance as he looked up from the charts he was examining.

"Lord Elrond!" yelled a soldier, throwing back the front flap of his tent to reveal a startled lord. "The orcs are trying to ford the Bruinien!"

Elrond stood up so fast ne nearly knocked over his papers. The Bruinien was a huge river, so large and fast-flowing in nearly rivaled the mountains in natural defenses- or so he'd thought. The orcs must be getting impatient or desperate if they were trying to ford those deadly waters.

"They must be mad," said Elrond, his heart leaping in his throat. A battle now was actually their best hope, with the troops still relatively fed. Lead them to victory right now, they might be able to leave the valley to find food. If they lost, it would hardly matter either way.

Elrond gritted his teeth and prayed to Eru.


	16. Part Two: Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is battle, and Elrond is injured.

**Second Age, August 28th, 1699. 5:49 A.M.**

The orcs were desperate, but they weren't stupid.

The battle was harder than his previous ones. He was fatigued from months of small rations, and the soldiers around him were suffering too. Their horses were gone, and Elrond had hardly done any fighting as a foot soldier.

But he was alive, and right then, that was what mattered.

Fire burned through his veins as he wielded his blade, shouting his voice hoarse as he barked orders and yelled in the name of Gil-galad, in the name of the High King, even in the name of Valinor.

The sun was soon up, and the orcs began to retreat. With each step Elrond could feel his spirits return, even through his adrenaline fueled haze. He could even be called heartened, if such a word could apply to one covered with blood and gore.

Then came the mace.

He had been careless. At some point, Elrond had lost the edge of his mind, letting himself fall into an easy fighting style. He was staving off two orcs with his blade and barely registered the third orcs when the mace slammed into his arms and wrenched his sword out of his hand.

Elrond had never felt such pain. He heard his bones crack and break, his scream of agony joining those around him. He didn't have the time to suffer, though. The two orcs were slain, either by him or a passing friend, he could not remember. Everything was covered in blood and going black around the edges. He reached for his sword with his left hand only to find that it didn't respond, except to shoot unbearable pain up his arm. He fumbled for the sword with his right hand instead, grabbing it and brandishing it clumsily. His fingers nearly slipped in the grime and dirt of the hilt.

Around them, the battle raged, but for a moment it felt like a showdown between Elrond and this grinning orc and his blood-coated mace. When Elrond saw the sticky liquid dripping from the weapon, he nearly threw up. That was  _his_  blood. His blood coated the orc's sword, and soon it it would be joined with others' if Elrond did not act. He dodged the next swing of the mace and got in close with the orc, so close that he could smell its stench. The orc stepped back in confusion, causing the mace to clip Elrond's leg.

Pain reared its head again, but he ignored it and shoved his sword into the orc's chest like a spear, unable to wield a sword right-handed with more finesse. The orc fell, the mace going slack in his hand. Elrond struggled for breath as he stood over his body, too pained for any feeling of accomplishment to come.

The orcs were still retreating. Elrond had forgotten about the big picture in the midst of his small battle. He tried to raise the cry of victory, but his voice wouldn't shout loud enough.

"Lord Elrond!"

He knew that voice. As the orcs around him ceased to fight in favor or being slaughtered as they ran, a familiar golden-haired warrior found him.

"Glorfindel," he said. "Wonderful. I am glad to see you survived the battle."

"A few orcs couldn't take me down," said Glorfindel, grinning tiredly. "More than a few, perhaps, but-Elrond, what's wrong?"

Elrond had unconsciously reached for Glorfindel's shoulder for support. As the adrenaline wore off, his arm and leg throbbed with increasing pain.

"I was injured in the battle," he said, managing to keep his voice calm. "It is of no great matter. There are still orcs ahead to fight. I will not remain here, left behind in the dust."

"Let me see."

"No, Glorfindel," said Elrond firmly, stepping forward to find that his leg was quite stable. He hadn't yet looked at his arm, although by the feel of it it was still bleeding quite badly. "My wounds are not life-threatening. I will deal with them after the battle."

"Elrond, you're being-"

"It was not up for debate."

Elrond took the lead, following the armies as fast as his injured leg would let him.

* * *

 

**Second Age, August 28th, 1699. 8:24 A.M.**

"We did it. I can scarcely believe that we actually won."

"Doubting your troops, my lord? asked Glorfindel, raising an eyebrow.

Elrond would have laughed if he wasn't so tired and sore. "Not at all. Only myself. The army did very well, but we must remember that we have only driven the orcs back. They still thirst for our blood on the other side of the river."

"Which they won't try to forge again, if they have any sense," said one of Elrond's advisors, approaching them. "With luck, it will rain, and the Bruinien will turn back into its usual untamable self."

His advisor's face darkened when he saw Elrond's arm, which hung by his side uselessly.

"My lord," he said carefully, as Elrond waited for the inevitable advice. "Have you had a healer look at that? It seems to be quite bad."

"I know what it _seems_  to be," said Elrond. "But it is my injury, and who has a better grasp of it but me? I will seek aid when we have time, and no sooner."

"Forgive me for saying it, but-"

"And forgive me for interrupting you, Fenyriel, but I will save you from our esteemed lord's harsh words by beating you to the bush. Elrond, have you actually given your arm a good look since you were injured? Because you need to. And then you need to find the best healer in this valley to fix it for you, because otherwise-"

Elrond turned away from Glorfindel, effectively cutting him off.

"Fenyriel," he said firmly. "What did you come to tell me? You have the look of one who bears good news."

The young advisor smiled nervously. "I do, my lord. The orcs in their haste to flee left behind many of their supplies, full wagons even."

"Food?" said Elrond, his heart jumping into his throat. "The orcs left behind their supplies, including  _food_? This is a good day, a very good day. Not only are the orcs left without their precious supplies, but we will not go hungry. Fenyriel, have the amount and type of supplies counted immediantly, and we will begin distribution as soon as possible."

Fenyriel hesitated, wiping grime off his forehead. "Many are worried about the orc food, my lord. It may not be edible."

Elrond laughed shortly. "Even on the brink of starvation, my soldiers balk at the idea of touching food handled by orcs? If it is truly inedible, dispose of it, but only then. Go, bring the news to the other advisors and commanders, and be quick about it."

When Fenyriel left, Elrond made to find someone with a general report of the casualties, but he was stopped by a rough grip on his injured arm. He was nearly brought to his knees by the pain and turned quickly to find Glorfindel, white-faced with rage, holding his arm in the air.

"Do not ignore me like that again," growled Glorfindel. "I am not a gossiping old hen you can qualm with honeyed words. I am trying to  _help_  you, and help you I will, even if it irks you as it seems to be doing."

Glorfindel lifted Elrond's arm higher in the air. Elrond could not stifle the cry that followed.

"Look at this," said Glorfindel harshly. "Really look at it. I do not think you have."

Elrond reluctantly centered his gaze on his arm, seeing for the first time the truth he had been so desperate to avoid.

His armor he'd so treasured had not protected him from the mace. Instead, his arm was a red, oozing mess, armor plates crushed into the broken bones. He tried to bend his fingers but was rewarded with a shooting pain instead. Blood was trickling from where Glorfindel gripped his arm, and when Elrond felt it with his left hand, the skin underneath the arm was swollen and mushy.

"You're right," said Elrond quietly. "This is bad."

"Don't forget about your leg, either, you dense idiot," said Glorfindel, dropping his arm. "That's injured too, although not nearly as bad as your arm."

"Maces," sighed Elrond, still feeling his arm, the way the armor helped crush his bones, the awful way it had begun to try and heal. "Who invented maces?"

Glorfindel slung a tired arm over his shoulder and began to lead him towards the healers' tents.

"I have some choice words about maces," said Glorfindel, a trace of amusement in his voice. "But I fear it would not be  _proper_  to repeat them in  _such_  high-born company as yourself, my lord."

Elrond's laugh was brittle. "Fuck maces."

"Hmm?"

"You heard me. Fuck maces, Glorfindel, and all those who wield them."

"As you say, my lord."


	17. Part Two: Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond heals, albeit panfully.

**Second Age, August 28th, 1698. 12:20 P.M.**

"Breathe, Lord Elrond, and it will go easier."

"I-I am trying," he managed. "It is not easy going, is all."

"You're doing fantastic, my lord," said the healer, clapping a calloused hand on his shoulder. "Although I doubt that means much to you at the moment."

"I will...comfort myself with that fact at a...later date," he said, his thin attempt at humor making her smile.

She was attempting to remove all the armor from his injured arm, piece by painful piece. The healers had offered to make Elrond unconscious for it; if he'd been a normal soldier with normal responsibilities, he would have accepted, but he had duties he needed to attend to sooner rather than later.

He felt her fingers fumble at a bit of golden metal. As he watched, she pulled at it, and a layer of skin and muscle went with it. He turned away as he felt bile rise in his throat.

He was staring at the front of the tent, away from the gore, and thus saw Glorfindel and the messenger enter. The messenger stopped in his tracks when he saw Elrond's bloody arm; Glorfindel didn't pause as he strode to Elrond's side.

"Ow," said Glorfindel casually, running his fingers through his golden hair. "Glad that's not me."

"Thank you, that's very-ngghhh..."

"I'm sorry, didn't hear you."

The healer, who'd just pulled another piece of armor out of his crushed arm, patted him sympathetically and continued her work.

Elrond laughed weakly and said, "What's the news? I haven't had either a report on the supplies or the number of causalities."

"You know," said Glorfindel, deciding now was the time for one of his thoughtful interruptions. "When I met you, you'd hardly smile even during a festival. Now you smile during surgery. I must be a  _wonderful_  influence."

"Ha," said Elrond, grinding his teeth together as the healer once again did something horrendous in the name of healing. "Note that a-as a laugh of derision, not amusement. Big...difference."

"I can't tell whether that was sarcastic or not," said Glorfindel, although he sobered at the sight of Elrond in obvious agony. "Tell me, healer, how's it look? For his arm, I mean?"

"I have a name, you know," said the healer.

"Forgive me, but I do not know it."

"I know," said the healer. "And as for our poor lord here, with time and luck, he should regain full use of the arm. But it will take a long time to heal, and I'm not going to be able to get all these metal bits out, not without making him bleed out. It's gonna be a nasty scar, I'm afraid."

"I'm always wanted a battle scar," lied Elrond, his insides twisting.

Lauded for his beauty, he'd been. For his thick eyelashes and his full lips and his pale, perfect body. He'd worried before that he was too tan and thin for his King, but he could always eat more and get less sun. He would never be able to hide a scar like this, not one adorned with his own armor.

Now was not the time for these worries. His pain was getting him off task.

"For now, Lord Elrond," said the healer. "You're going to have to fight with your other hand. That is, if the rumors are true, and you are left-handed by birth."

"I am," said Elrond. "A small misfortune compared to some of mine, but irksome nonetheless.

"His leg?" prompted Glorfindel.

Elrond had almost forgotten about his leg, so badly did his arm hurt. Trust Glorfindel to remember trivial things like leg injuries.

"Barely scraped, it was," said the healer. "It'll be fine."

Elrond would have spoken, but her hands were in his arm again, and he wished there was a bucket to throw up in nearby.

"I believe you asked for a report of the supplies," said Glorfindel, leaning closer. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but the troops heard you were injured and many are fearing for your life. I needed to know for their sake. As for supplies, I'm sure you'll get a much more detailed report when you're not quite so indisposed, but as for now, the estimate of edible food is thought to hold us for a year, perhaps more, if rationed carefully. That's not even to mention all the other supplies the orcs left behind in their haste."

"What...about the...Bruinen?" asked Elrond as best he could. "Any signs of it rising again?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, but for now, that is good. We need the time to get the provisions to the valley."

"That's...wonderful news. Couldn't have...hoped for better," panted Elrond, finding her breathing getting shorter as the healer, her hands red with his blood, leaned over to retrieve a needle and thread.

"That's not all," said Glorfindel, a definite shine coming from his skin as he grinned. Damn Valinorian Elves. "A group of Dwarves found their way to us just about an hour ago. They heard the battle and came running. They arrived to late to help, but they were at the battle a year ago, when Lord Cel- well, you know. They're Durin's Dwarves."

"Are they willing to fight?"

"Did I not just tell you as much?"

"You'll have to forgive me, my mental facilities are not...up to par at the moment. Did they bring any of their own supplies?"

"Some," said Glorfindel, smile fading. "They've been hiding in the mountains for the last year, away from the orcs. They'll need some of ours."

"And we'll be happy to oblige, as long as they fight. "Thank you...Glorfindel, for all the news. And now for the poor messenger I have kept waiting."

The messenger, so young he could only have turned a hundred a few years previously, shuffled forward. His face was flushed, and Elrond guessed he was sickened by the sight of Elrond's arm. Elrond didn't blame him.

"My Lord Elrond, I have the casualty report," he began, but the healer suddenly rose up and quieted him.

"I am sorry to interrupt you, brave one, but I am going to begin resetting his bones, and I don't think you'll want to be here for that. Or that he'll be very talkative during it."

Elrond's face must have betrayed his feelings, for Glorfindel winced for him and squeezed his right hand.

"I will stay, if you want."

"I am not certain," said Elrond quietly. "Is it cowardly to clutch at another soldier's hand when injured? I have little experience in these matters."

"There is not cowardice in choosing to command your army over your comfort," said Glorfindel.

"Then stay."

The messenger turned to leave. Elrond called after him, saying, "Please, if you could, find me a bucket or pail of some sort before you go. I do not think my stomach will last."

The messenger did as he was bid, leaving Elrond gripping Glorfindel's hand tightly.

"You never told me your name," said Glorfindel, speaking to the healer.

"No," said the healer. "I didn't."

Then she snapped something in Elrond's arm, and he screamed.


	18. Part Two: Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond survives banter with Glorfindel and meets with dwarves.

**Second Age, August 29th, 1699. 9:47 A.M.**

The air blowing into the valley smelled like death.

No one said anything, least of all Elrond, but they could all smell it. They'd burnt the carcasses of the orcs, but the smell still lingered, blown towards them by a late summer wind.

Glorfindel, who was helping him down the steep slope, noticed his pinched expression and asked, "Are you alright, Elrond?"

"I'm fine," said Elrond, hand clutching at the cane the healers had forced on him.

The leg injury, the lesser of his two wounds, had become infected in the night and was now posing nearly as much of a problem for Elrond as his butchered arm was. He felt slow and useless and detested the cane even as he kept a death grip on it.

"You're lying, but that's to be expected. It comes with the territory."

"Ah, yes," said Elrond. "One of the Golden Flower's many unfathomable statements. Do I dare ask what territory you speak of?"

"The territory of a high lord such as yourself. You really have been neglecting the lying duties."

"I suppose it comes with being left-handed," said Elrond, nearly slipping on a patch of small stones. "All my problems of late seem to stem from that."

"By all you mean one, of course."

"My  _dear_  Lord Glorfindel, could it be that you're actually trying to make me feel better, using your sad attempts at humor? Let me thank you for the effort."

The banter cheered Elrond slightly, but it didn't stop him from feeling helpless or ugly or incompetent. Glorfindel sighed when he saw Elrond's face fall in the silence.

"Something  _is_  wrong, Elrond, and I wish you would tell me what it is."

"Perhaps I am thinking of the terrible pain I was in only yesterday, when I had a mace crush my armor into my skin, to stay there for the rest of eternity. Or perhaps later that day, when every small bone in my arm was reset, taking up several agonizing hours of my day. Maybe  _that_  is what's bothering me."

Elrond stopped walking as he waited for Glorfindel's reply, examining the tree before him. It was beautiful, its leaves the deep green of a tree about to turn for the fall, the bark smooth and white. He would have reached out to touch a leaf if his one good hand wasn't gripping a cane.

"I honestly wish that's what  _was_  bothering you," said Glorfindel, the low timbre of his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke barely above a whisper. "But now I know it's not, now that you've mentioned it all. What's  _really_  going on?"

"Poor Glorfindel," was what Elrond ended up replying with. "Poor Glorfindel of the House of the Yellow Flower. He slays a Balrog and then ends up trapped in a valley with a useless Half-elf."

"Poor Glorfindel," replied Glorfindel easily. "He's stuck in a valley with a Half-elf who won't stop bitching. Now tell me the truth, or I'll be the most irritating shadow you've ever had."

"Aren't you already?"

" _Elrond."_

"Fine," said Elrond testily. "Could we find a place to sit? My leg aches and I can't balance with my arm in this sling."

"You do look a sight," agreed Glorfindel. "And not a good one."

The two of them found a resting spot on some grass (unusually soft and green for late August) to talk. Elrond grumbled incoherently as he eased his leg down and tried to get comfortable, an effort that proved futile.

"I must look ridiculous," said Elrond quietly after a few minutes. "Complaining about my injuries like this, walking with the gait of a lame horse, glaring moodily at anyone who looks at me the wrong way. I am shaming myself and my king."

He chanced a glance at Glorfindel, who was quite taken aback.

"Elrond, you idiot," he began. "You had your arm crushed just  _yesterday_. By all rights, you should be in bed. In fact, the healers are still lamenting that you're not! But the strong and stalwart Lord Elrond maintained he must see the Dwarves in person, and here we are. You should not feel bad about your pain. You do not flaunt it when you face your troops, but only when you are with me, your friend and confidant. Do not worry yourself over that."

"These days it seems like your biggest battles are against my self-confidence," said Elrond, lips almost twitching into a smile.

"You underestimate yourself," said Glorfindel. "We are still dancing around the subject at hand. What has been bothering you?"

"I had a choice," said Elrond, his voice betraying no emotion. "I made it long ago. I chose to be one of the Eldar, and yet here I am, limping with a cane like some aged human man. My brother used a cane in his last days, I am told."

"You feel like an old man?" asked Glorfindel.

"Yes," sighed Elrond. "I do. I fear the sight I make to the soldiers, who have not forgotten my heritage. What if they think I am weak? What can I even say to that claim?"

"Like I said, you poor, worried, idiot," said Glorfindel kindly. "You are walking on a wounded leg that was injured barely twenty-four hours ago. Elves do not think of old men unless they are presented with them. Trust me, friend, it will not even enter their minds."

Elrond was silent for a moment, his deep gray eyes clouded with thought. Then he nodded sharply.

"You're right," he said. "What you say makes sense. Now help me up, I have a dwarf contingent to meet with."

**Second Age, August 29th, 1699. 10:20 A.M.**

"Lord Kardim," said Elrond, sweeping into the tent as graciously as he could while leaning on a cane. "I am sorry it took so long for you to get a proper welcome."

"I'm no lord," were the first words out of the Dwarf's mouth. "And as a simple Dwarf, let me tell you I'm surprised to see you out of bed. You Elves aren't as tough as Dwarves, and I heard you were gravely injured in the battle."

"Injured, yes," said Elrond. "But not gravely."

The Dwarf gave him a quick look over, stroking his gray beard. "Looks grave to me."

Elrond's smile was quick and unconvincing. "I have not come to discuss my injuries, but rather your presence here."

"How welcoming."

Elrond closed his eyes and winced. "That was not how I intended it. You must forgive me."

"Must I?"

Elrond sighed.

"I'm only having a bit of fun, my lord," said Kardim apologetically.

"No," said Elrond, sitting on a bench in the tent, the best the worn out troops could provide on short notice. "It is my fault. I did not want to admit it, but these wounds are trying my patience."

"As to be expected," said Kardim.

"Tell me, Lo...Kardim, how did you survive the last year?"

The Dwarf chuckled. "It would have been harder for Elves. I mean no offense, of course, it is just true. We escaped into the old tunnels and mines, although we did not dare to go past the outer halls."

"You ventured into Moria?" said Elrond, intrigued.

"Aye, but barely. We know the tales of what's down there, and there are barely forty of us. Not enough to fight anything much bigger than a scouting party."

Elrond nodded. "And with rumors of what's down there...how long were you in the mines?"

"Two or three months, at the beginning. Then the orc army stopped caring about us refugees and focused entirely on you, so we were able to escape into the mountains. Beautiful, they are, even in the winter."

"They are," he agreed.

"Anyway, we wanted to find you, but it was hard. Even with an army surrounding you, this valley is mighty hard to find."

"Good," said Elrond. "Perhaps the High King will find a use for this splendid valley if this long war ever ends."

Kardim suddenly got a twinkle in his eye that worried Elrond. "Is it true what they say about you and that Elf King of yours? That you two are bumping uglies?"

Elrond turned red. "I'm not sure now is the time for this discussion."

"When, then? Are you gonna invite me to your tent so we can discuss it in detail?"

"I thought you said you would stop 'having your bit of fun' or whatever you called it."

"I apologized, I never said I would stop."

"Lord Kardim," said Elrond firmly. "Take the subject up with the High King. For now we have matters of import to discuss. You are more than welcome to stay here, although your rations will be stretched thin, the same as ours."

"Thank you for your kindness," said Kardim, visibly surprised. "Ever since the disaster of Doriath, our kinds have not mixed well."

"Your ancestors took no part in the wars of our people," said Elrond. "And even if you had, I would not deny refuge to anyone, especially those who fought with us."

"You make a noble Lord," said Kardim.

"Thank you," said Elrond, smiling tiredly. "But it does not take much to make one a Lord."

"You know," said Kardim. "In return for your hospitality, us Dwarves could set about making this place a little more hospitable. Build some real buildings instead of these huts you have now."

"Just like that?"

"It would be good for the lads and lasses to have something to do, keep their hands busy. We'll even do it in Elvish style. They like a challenge."

"Speaking frankly, Kardim, that would be fantastic."

They spoke a few more minutes on the specifics of the Dwarves' staying in Imladris, where they'd camp, what they'd start building, how to find the latrines, etc. When it was time for Elrond to leave he started to struggle to his feet, but had no more than began when Kardim offered him a thick, calloused hand. Elrond took it and the Dwarf pulled him right to his feet, steadying him before he stumbled and even handing him his cane.

"I appreciate that," said Elrond breathlessly. "I'm glad we could make such beneficial arrangements. Now I'm afraid I have some other business to attend to."

"Hopefully resting is among it," said Kardim, eyeing him critically.

"I believe it is," he admitted, heading for the exit.

"You know," said Kardim. "Even though you're the most Lord-like Lord I've ever met, I like you."

Elrond smiled and took it as the compliment it was meant.


	19. Part Two: Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond relearns swordplay.

**Second Age, September 15th, 1699. 7:12 A.M.**

"I hate this."

The statement was not filled with anger or resentment, but with quiet resignation. Elrond hated to hear it come out of his mouth, but he was frustrated and tired beyond belief.

He chanced a glance at Glorfindel, eyes flitting up quickly. The golden-haired warrior was his usual paradigm of calmness, smiling encouragingly at him.

"I spent a decade learning how to wield a sword properly, and now I am back at square one," he said, almost too quietly for Glorfindel to hear. "How can you possibly stand me?"

"I'll admit, the pessimism is trying," said Glorfindel. "But you didn't pick this, Elrond. We've just got to try our best to get your in fighting strength again."

Elrond smiled, trying to show Glorfindel how grateful he was. He couldn't see it, but it looked out of place on his wan, tired face.

"Back in form," ordered Glorfindel.

Elrond's feet instinctively slipped back into the familiar position, a slightly cheering prospect. It wasn't his feet that were the problem, though. He raised his right hand and prepared for Glorfindel's attack, wishing his right arm wasn't strapped to his chest with more bandages then he'd even known the camp had had.

He wasn't going to complain about it though. Not out loud. His head was full enough of the sound of his own moaning, he didn't want to inflict it upon anyone else.

"Stop," said Glorfindel. "Stop your brooding right now. I know that face."

"You...do?"

"Yes. It's the patented 'Elrond is sad and insecure' face, and it makes me so unhappy I might scream. Stop thinking so much and fight me!"

Elrond cracked a smile and finally let himself get into the right mindset, even if he was still using the wrong hand.

**Second Age, October 21st, 1699. 7:24 A.M.**

"Much better!"

"You've said that five times today, I think."

"Maybe it's, I don't know, because you're doing much better?"

Elrond grinned foolishly at that. "Hopefully you speak the truth."

Glorfindel gasped. "Are you questioning my honesty? I demand a duel to regain my honor!"

"A duel you will surely win, oh great soldier," replied Elrond, readying his blade. "But still, I must try."

Glorfindel was about to pounce when he called, "Wait! Adjust your bandage, it's sliding."

Elrond sighed and straightened the sling. He'd had it on for so long it felt like it was a part of him now. "Yes, yes, it's done. Let's go!"

"As you wish, my lord," said Glorfindel.

The sparring match was intense, but afterwards, he felt better for it.

**Second Age, November 12th, 1699. 8:38 A.M.**

"What," said Elrond, panting and massaging his ribcage with his free hand. "Do you think it my sling came off and suddenly I couldn't fight again? Wouldn't that be horrible?"

"I doubt all your skill in your right hand would go away like that," said Glorfindel. "At worst you could wield two blades."

"But what if?" said Elrond. "Orcs attacking and my hands are useless?"

"You could always put the sling back on," suggested Glorfindel.

Elrond considered it. "I could, couldn't I? A bit unorthodox, but as long as it kept me alive."

"Exactly my sentiment," said Glorfindel.

Elrond unsheathed his sword again, the sound of metal on metal filling the air. "Again? Today is one of rest for the soldiers, and I have few duties, for once."

Glorfindel was taken aback. "You still have the energy?"

"And you do not? Tut, where is the House f the Golden Flower now?"

Glorfindel growled with annoyance and attacked; Elrond was ready for him.

* * *

**Second Age, January 5th, 1700. 6:20 A.M.**

"It is far too early for this, Elrond. I should be sleeping. _You_ should be sleeping. We should all be sleeping."

"Do you think the orcs are sleeping?"

"Probably. It's too early in them morning for this."

"You wouldn't have said that three months ago."

"It wasn't cold enough to freeze my hair into individual strands three months ago."

They were interrupted by a messenger puffing up to them, breath visible in the frosty air.

"Lord Commander Elrond," said the messenger breathlessly. "Lord Glorfindel. News."

"Lord Commander?" commented Glorfindel. "I haven't heard that one before."

"Me neither," said Elrond. "I like it."

The messenger spared them a quick grin before launching into his news. "I have a letter."

"From?" prompted Elrond, amazed. "We haven't gotten any news in months. Last we heard the King was holding Lhûn to defend the Havens."

"No longer!" said the messenger, waving the letter in excitement. "Tar-Minastir's fleet has come finally! The Númenorians are here in force! The High King has marched from Lhûn!"

"To where?" asked Elrond excitedly.

"The letter does not say, but it speaks of the King's intent to battle here at Imladris when he can."

"Any bad news?" said Glorfindel. "I hate to burst the bubble, but there's always bad news."

The messenger's smile faded. "According to all reports, Eriador is overrun. We alone stand against Sauron."

"Only what we suspected," said Elrond. "And still we stand. Let us rejoice! The Númenorians have arrived, and Ereinion is on his way!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle approaches, and with it all the emotions that come with war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I take so long before updating on here, I keep forgetting about it. This story is, of course, up in its completion on the Silmarillion Writer's Guild and fanfiction.net, if you want to complete it sooner.

**Second Age, April 13th, 1700. 4:52 P.M.**

"This is amazing," marveled Elrond. "Kardim, you have outdone yourself."

"Have I?" said Kardim curiously, stroking his beard. "I don't think I ever saw you in my halls, when I had them. You have not seen the work my Dwarves and I are capable of."

"I never said I had," replied Elrond, raising an eyebrow at the Dwarf. "I was only referring to the splendid work you have done in a besieged refugee camp with few supplies and limited rations. To my eye, untrained in Dwarven work as I may be, it is amazing."

"There is a compliment I can really get behind," said Kardim, his laugh more of a bark than anything else. "I can see that you mean it. Thank you, Lord Elrond."

Elrond ran his fingers over the cool stone of Imladris' new bridge. "No, Kardim, thank you. Not only have you given us bridges for our many streams, but watching all of you build has been good for us, refugees and soldiers alike. We have been trapped here too long, and you have given us a breath of fresh air."

"And thank you, Lord Elrond, for giving us the shelter we needed and work to keep our hands busy."

He and the Dwarf exchanged nods. Kardim left to return to his Dwarves, but Elrond stayed on the bridge, staring into the clear waters that were only a few feet below. The Dwarves really _had_ done a marvelous job- they'd used Elvish motifs while keeping their style intact, and the designs carved into it were as beautiful as the stone was strong.

He tentatively reached his left hand out to join his right, trying to get it to grip the bar on the bridge. Eight months. Eight months since his injury, and still his arm shook when extended too far. Even now he still had to put it back in the sling sometimes, when it ached too badly.

He pushed the sleeve of his robe up, revealing the scar marring his left arm. It was so _large,_ he thought with dismay, the same thought as always. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the bumps and ridges and, in the middle, the place where his armor was embedded, smooth and golden. A bit of Celebrimbor to carry with him, he realized suddenly, the last thing his cousin and almost brother had ever given him. The thought did not make him feel better.

He let his sleeve fall back into place and fell back into brooding. How Ereinion would laugh at him if he could see him. How he missed the big fool; his laugh, his strength, even how he'd spill Elrond's ink while he was trying to work. Always accidentally, of course. Gil-galad's elbows weren't meant for libraries.

He was so busy staring at the water that he didn't notice someone approach until they were right behind him. He whipped around to find Glorfindel's face only inches from his own. The warrior's eyes were wide, his expression exhilarated, his hair in total disarray.

"They're here," he panted, sounding like he'd run a mile uphill. "They're here! Get your armor on, Gil-galad's here! They're starting a rear attack on the orcs! If we join forces, we should be able to defeat them!"

Elrond couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud, a wild, half crazed sound, and kissed Glorfindel on the forehead with a horrible squelching noise.

"The siege will finally break!" he cried, rushing with his friend to the tents. In the distance, he heard a horn blow.

**Second Age, April 13th, 1700. 5:31 P.M.**

"Ready?"

He exchanged a look with Glorfindel, although he wasn't sure what it contained. Fear, probably, knowing him. Steel, maybe. Hope.

Elrond didn't respond directly to his friend, watching the horizon closely. In front of them, an army of orcs. Behind him, his army, who'd spent the last half hour jumping into formation.

Behind the orcs, another army.

"What're you waiting for?" asked Glorfindel.

Elrond squinted at the horizon. Where was it?

There. A banner, glinting blue even from this distance. Elrond knew that if he were closer he would see the silver stars of the Elf who meant everything to him.

He raised his sword in his right hand and roared, "Charge!"

* * *


End file.
